Matters of Great Import
by oconnellaboo
Summary: NOW COMPLETE!  Sequel to Matters of Perception. Post S3 Finale/AU. Peter Bishop saved the worlds, but now may lose his life. Is it really that simple? Can the people who love him save him? SHOULD they? Don't own 'em, wish I did, LOVE my Beta, DixieGirl256!
1. Chapter 1

1.

Peter Bishop awoke feeling pretty much the same way he had the night before: lousy. He rose stiffly from his bed and frowned at the empty side next to him. He had really hoped she'd stay with him last night, but she – ever the voice of logic and pragmatism – reminded him that he had a big day ahead of him, and he needed to get a good night's sleep.

"I'll see you in the morning, anyway. I'll be there bright and early to pick you and Walter up, okay?" she had said, kissing him on the cheek, as you would a child. Peter got the distinct impression that Olivia didn't want to spend the night anyway; she was having a hard time dealing with the recent diagnosis that Peter's childhood illness had returned. They had just been reunited after he had operated the Machine – and wound up in a universe that didn't remember him, nor he it.

The universe had been re-set to its proper timeline, and everyone's memories had been restored, but the consequence had been that Peter's physiology had been re-set to its original state; again, he was ill, and most likely dying, just as he was when he was brought to this universe as a child.

It threw Olivia for a loop, possibly even more than it did Peter himself. Perhaps he was just in denial, but he had a hard time thinking that this general malaise – this feverish, achy feeling, with a side order of bruises – was actually going to kill him. It had been a week since they'd found out, and in that time, it had been business as usual – endless paperwork and debriefing from the FBI, lab tests, and supervising the rifts and vortices that had been threatening to rip the universes apart, but were now healing and sealing themselves of their own accord. He had gone to bed each night more tired than usual, and popping fever-reducing Tylenol at a Homeric clip, but it had usually been with Olivia by his side. Some nights, she would run a loving, soothing hand through his damp hair to lull him to sleep; other nights were a bit more active, with languid lovemaking taking its turn with good old-fashioned, spine-shattering sex.

But not last night. Last night, Olivia had left him alone – to rest, she had said. To prepare for the worst, he had thought; you can't prepare to have half your heart ripped away when the other half is lying beside you in bed. He thought perhaps she was preparing herself to be alone again.

So, this morning, Peter woke alone. He washed his face alone, brushed his teeth alone, showered alone (that part really sucked), and dressed alone. Donning his most comfortable, beaten-up jeans, he then pulled his softest, most worn t-shirt over his head. Looking at his face in the mirror, he decided again that shaving wasn't worth the effort, and smiled at the Violet Sedan Chair logo that was barely visible on his ancient shirt.

The logo was the only thing worth smiling at in the mirror; the face that stared back at him was pale, almost ashen, save for the red-rimmed eyes, and the circles that surrounded those eyes like bruises. Maybe they _were_ bruises, he thought; everything else felt black and blue most times anyway.

Still in his bare feet, Peter padded downstairs, holding onto the banister for balance, and found Walter in the kitchen. No surprise there; what was surprising was that he was standing at the stove simply staring at an empty griddle, a ladle of batter in his hand. "Walter?" Peter said softly, hoping not to startle him. Luckily, he didn't, and Walter looked his way. "Good morning."

Walter laid the ladle gently back in the bowl of batter. "Peter," he said quietly, a small smile coming to his face. "I was going to make breakfast. Are… are you hungry?"

"Yeah, actually. Whatcha got there? Don't tell me… pancakes." Peter stepped closer to his father.

"Yes. Yes, I was going to make pancakes. But then I realized… well, when you were – I mean… yes. Would you like some pancakes?" Walter stammered as he clumsily pulled the ladle back out of the bowl. As batter splattered everywhere, Walter muttered, "Dammit."

"Walter…" Peter said again as Walter continued muttering oaths at the pancake batter. "Dad." Walter turned to look at him. "I'll be in the living room, okay? Take your time with the pancakes. We have plenty of time til we have to get to Massive Dynamic."

"Yes, all right. How are you feeling today, son?" Walter said, reaching out toward Peter's face, but stopping short of touching him.

"Pretty good," he lied. "But… hungry." He smiled and gestured at the stove to remind Walter of the task at hand.

"Ah, yes. Yes, of course," Walter said, forcing a smile as Peter walked slowly to the living room. From the corner of his eye, Walter watched how his son seemed to be straining to stay upright. He sighed and shook his head. Hearing Peter seating himself on the living room sofa, Walter called in, "Blueberry okay?"

"Yup, great," Peter replied. "I'm so glad it's okay for me to eat. I probably would've gotten violent if I had to do this thing today on an empty stomach. Thank God, it's just injections."

Walter stopped what he was doing. "About today, Peter…" he began.

"Yeah?"

"I'm afraid I won't be able to be there. I… I got a call last night… I need to attend a board meeting at the same time as your appointment, and it's a rather important one. I've blown off a number of meetings, and now they're more than a little peeved that the owner and CEO of Massive Dynamic can't be bothered to attend his own meetings, so…"

Peter sighed and interrupted him. "That's okay, Walter, I understand," he said, although he was disappointed. He took a breath and said in his most casual tone, "So, who's doing the honors?"

"Brandon Fayette," Walter said. "I called him earlier this morning. He'll take good care of you."

"I'm sure he will," Peter said. "He has to answer to the owner and CEO if he misses a vein or something."

"Don't say that!" Walter snapped. "I would be there if I could!"

"Okay, okay, I know," Peter placated him. An uncomfortable silence fell over them, which Peter decided was unacceptable. "You can talk about him, you know."

Walter looked over his shoulder dismissively as he flipped a pancake. "I don't know what you mean," he said, shifting his attention back to his cooking.

"Peter," he said simply. "_Your_ Peter. You can talk about him. You should. You know the difference between us now. You understand it. So don't feel like you can't talk about him, okay? He was your child, Walter. Your _son_."

"I know that, don't you think I know that?" Walter snapped again as he spun to look at Peter. When his eyes fell on the pale young man and his distraught face, his voice softened. "I know. I'm sorry, son." He turned back to the stove. "Thank you."

"It's okay, Walter." Walter finished making the pancakes, and the two men then ate in silence.

That silence was interrupted by a knock at the front door. "That'll be Olivia. We probably should've waited for her," Peter said, standing quickly – a little too quickly, because he swayed as he soon as he got up.

Walter put a steadying hand on Peter's arm as Olivia used her new key to open the door. "Hey, you two," she said cheerfully, although the cheer didn't quite reach her eyes as she noticed Walter practically holding Peter up.

"Hi," Peter said. She walked over and kissed him – on the lips, this time – and put her arms around him gingerly. He sniffed her hair, and said, "God, I missed that smell this morning," as he returned her embrace.

"Wow, one night away from me and you're all moony," Olivia teased him. Touching the back of her hand, and then her lips, to his forehead, her face turned serious. "Did you take your temp this morning?"

"Yes, dear," he droned sarcastically. "One hundred point seven, thank you very much." He suddenly grinned. "Sounds like a radio station – you're listening to one hundred point seven! Music from the Other Side!"

"You're a regular riot, Bishop," she said, forcing a grin to match his. Or just a little delirious, she thought to herself.

"Say, have you eaten yet? I think there are a couple of pancakes left. I'm really sorry we didn't wait for you, but you weren't supposed to come for another half hour, and I was going to eat my arm otherwise," Peter said sheepishly.

"That's okay," she assured him. "I had a roll and coffee before I came over. But thank you." She looked at Walter. "So, do you want to just hang out here for awhile, or just get going?"

"Might as well get this over with," Peter said as he went to get his coat and Walter's. "Sooner I get shot up with Walter's amazing happy juice, the sooner we get back to whatever passes for normal with us."

"Yes, that's a good idea," Walter said, taking the coat from Peter with a nod. "I'd like to go over some paperwork before my meeting."

"Meeting?" Olivia asked. "You have a meeting after Peter's treatment?"

"No, dear, I'm afraid I'll have to miss administering the dose," Walter said briskly. "Brandon Fayette will handle the treatment."

"Are you kidding me?" Olivia said, her voice rising. "You're going to a meeting instead of being with Peter? Walter, what the hell?"

"'Livia, it's okay," Peter interjected, his eyes pleading with her over Walter's head. "The board just won't take no for an answer. _You know how it is_."

Olivia glared at him. "No, I don't, but fine. Come on, let's go," she finished brusquely.

They piled into the car, Walter in the back seat and Peter in his usual spot in the front passenger seat. Mere minutes into the trip, Walter was already asleep, snoring softly. "I swear, he's like a baby," she said aloud. "A couple of minutes into a trip, and he's out like a light."

"Mm-hmm," came the barely audible reply. She glanced over at Peter at the first stop light, and saw him resting his head against the cool glass of the window, his eyes pinched closed. She was pretty sure he was shivering.

Olivia turned the heat up in the car, and reached over to touch Peter's forehead again. "Peter," she said softly.

"Hmmm… yeah?" he said groggily, lifting his head and rubbing his eyes. "Sorry, did I nod off? I'm getting as bad as Walter."

"That's okay, you have an excuse. I think your fever's up," she said worriedly.

"Yeah, kinda feels like it. Walter told me I probably shouldn't take any analgesics after 11 last night." Peter scrubbed a hand over his face. "Come on, talk to me. I hate falling asleep in the car." He looked back at Walter, blissfully asleep. Lowering his voice slightly, he said, "Okay, full disclosure."

"What?" Olivia asked in disbelief. "You actually want to play that _now_?"

"Sure, why not? You start." Peter straightened up in his seat, determined not to look sick.

She glanced at him sideways – he was serious. "Okay. Full disclosure," she said as she made a left turn. "How are you _really_ feeling?"

Peter's brow furrowed. "Me and my big mouth," he groused, earning a smile from Olivia.

"You know, you look about ten years old right now," she laughed. "Come on, answer the question. Full disclosure."

Sighing, he resigned himself to telling the truth. "I feel like shit. And cranky. And… " He turned his gaze away from Olivia to the window. "And, a little nervous, I guess."

Olivia took one hand from the wheel and briefly caressed Peter's hair. "Yeah, I kinda figured as much. We're going to get through this together, all right?"

Peter nodded. "Okay. My turn."

"Uh-oh," Olivia chuckled, trying to lighten the mood. "Go ahead, shoot."

"You didn't really want to be with me last night, did you?"

Olivia sighed, pulled over at the curb, and turned off the engine. Turning in her seat to face Peter, she said, "What made you ask that?"

"I don't know, I just got a feeling you needed some space to wrap your head around this before it got started," he shrugged.

Olivia lowered her head, and Peter was surprised to see she was laughing. "And to think I ever doubted how well you knew me," she said, raising her gaze back to Peter's.

"I've noticed how you've looked at me lately," Peter said simply. "I'm glimmering, aren't I?"

Olivia nodded as Peter took her hand in his. "I'm sorry. About last night."

Peter shook his head. "It's okay. I wasn't exactly sparkling company anyway. I ate some dinner, and was dead asleep on the couch by 9. Walter had to wake me up to tell me to go to bed," he laughed.

"Huh? What?" Walter awoke suddenly in the back seat. "Are we – "

"No, Walter, we're not there yet," Peter replied. "Just stopped for a minute, is all."

"Are you all right?" Walter asked, worry furrowing his brow to match Peter's.

"Yeah, we're fine," Peter answered, smiling knowingly at Olivia. "Right?"

"Right," Olivia smiled back. "Let's get you better, Bishop," she finished as she pulled back onto the road.


	2. Chapter 2

Matters of Great Import 2

Olivia, Peter and Walter arrived a good hour early for Peter's appointment, and were greeted at the reception desk like the VIPs they were.

"Doctor Bishop!" the large man with long, curly brown hair exclaimed, bounding over to Walter excitedly.

"Kevin! Hello! How are you?" Walter said cheerfully as the younger man shook his hand vigorously.

Olivia looked at Peter quizzically. "What? Kevin? Oh, he and Walter are bong buddies," Peter said casually.

"Bong buddies," Olivia repeated, deadpan.

The man, who resembled a human wall to Olivia, turned to her. "Hi, Agent Dunham, I'm Kevin Sanchez. It's nice to finally meet you."

She shook his hand. "Hi, I'm surprised we've never met before, Kevin."

"Well, I had the night shift on video surveillance, but Doctor Bishop here thought I needed more interpersonal contact, so he promoted me to Desk Supervisor! He's awesome," Kevin gushed.

Peter smiled, and nudged Walter with his shoulder. "See that, Walter? You're awesome." Walter only managed a nod toward his son, to Peter's dismay.

"Mister Bishop, Kevin Sanchez. Hi." Kevin shook hands with Peter. He had wanted to meet the son of his hero for a long time; Walter had spoken so eloquently of him, and with such pride and love, that Kevin was just a little bit envious.

"Hi, good to meet you, Kevin. And it's Peter," Peter replied.

"You're here for your 9 am in Medical, right? Hope everything's okay," he said , his face turning serious at the sight of the drawn man in front of him.

Peter smiled. "Thanks. Nothing the minds of Massive Dynamic can't take care of. Don't worry, it's not contagious," he joked.

Kevin laughed heartily. "Cool," he chuckled. "I shoulda figured Doc Bishop would have a cool dude for a son."

"He's n– " Walter began harshly. He suddenly put his hand over his own mouth with a face full of shame and horror. "I… I have to get to my meeting. Good bye," he stammered, and rushed to the elevator before Olivia, Peter or Kevin could stop him.

"What the hell was that all about?" Olivia asked angrily.

"I don't know. He's been like this all morning. He can hardly even look at me," Peter said sadly.

"Peter, I… " Olivia began.

"It's fine, Olivia," he assured her. "Well, maybe not fine, but it is what it is. He just needs some time." He took a deep breath and turned back to Kevin. "Medical's on 25, right, Kevin? Do we need an escort?"

Kevin snorted. "Dude, for the heir to the company, and the baddest badass FBI Agent around? No way." He snapped his fingers and a lanky younger guard ran over. "Elevator 6 for Mr. Bishop and Agent Dunham," he ordered. "Private Express to 25, priority one."

"La-dee-dah," Peter murmured in Olivia's ear. "Don't say I don't take you to the swankiest spots, sweetheart."

Olivia linked arms with Peter as they were escorted to the elevator. "Yeah, you sure know how to show a girl a good time," she said, rolling her eyes.

When they arrived on 25, they were somewhat taken aback by the stark whiteness of the area. The doors were white; the walls were white; the floors were white. "I'd hate to be the janitor for this floor," Peter observed.

"Seriously," Olivia concurred.

They were surprised a moment later to see Nina Sharp exit one of the many white doors and walk toward them. "Hello," she said warmly as she stretched up to kiss Peter's cheek. "Peter, dear, how are you feeling today?" she asked, touching her gloved hand briefly to Peter's face.

"Been better, but I'm okay," he said, trying out his latest variation on the theme of, "I'm fine." "You didn't have to meet us personally. Shouldn't you be in the meeting?"

"What meeting?" Nina asked, confused.

"Nothing. Sorry, must have misheard Walter this morning, " he responded as he looked over at a fuming Olivia.

"Hello, Olivia. How are _you_ doing?" She squeezed Olivia's arm gently.

"Hanging in there. Looking forward to my guy being well again soon," Olivia replied hopefully.

"Your _guy_?" Peter grinned, puffing out his chest. "I like that!"

"Good, because you're gonna be stuck with that moniker for a long time."

Nina couldn't help but smile at the ease and affection she saw between Olivia and Peter. "I hate to break up this little lovefest," she teased them, and handed Peter a large white bag. "But, Peter, you'll need to change into these, all right?" At his reluctant look, she chuckled. "Don't worry, dear, they're scrubs. Your modesty will be protected at all cost."

"Darn," Olivia joked, earning a glare from Peter. "I'm sorry. I like the view. So sue me."

Blushing, Peter swiped the bag from Nina's grasp. "Sheesh, can't a guy keep a shred of dignity around here?" he grumbled. "Fine. Where do I change?"

Nina and Olivia exchanged amused looks. "Second door on the right," Nina replied, suppressing a smile.

"Do you want me to come with you?" Olivia asked. "Will you be okay?"

A flash of anger flitted across Peter's face, but was gone as quickly as it had appeared. "No, thanks," he said wearily. "I'll be fine on my own. Be out in a minute." Sighing, he clutched the bag of clothing to his chest and walked the short distance to the changing room.

When he was out of earshot, Olivia leaned against the wall, letting out a sigh of her own. Nina rubbed her arm soothingly. "He's going to be all right, Olivia," she said. "He was just a boy when he beat it the first time. He's a strong, very stubborn young man now. His chances should be even better."

"Thanks," was all Olivia could say, nodding.

As Peter stuffed the last of his own clothing into the now-empty bag, he sat down on the small bench in the changing room. It was only a week since his diagnosis, and he could already feel Walter pulling away from him. He was trying to be understanding; he had no idea, or understanding, of what Walter went through when the Peter of this universe was sick, and had finally died. He figured that Walter was only trying to protect himself from having to experience that kind of heartbreak again.

But that didn't mean it didn't hurt. He laughed ruefully; five years ago, if anyone had asked him if he would ever be standing in a hospital ward wanting his daddy, he would've hauled off and punched him. "Yeah, I'm a grown man," he said sarcastically, dragging himself upright. "Screw your courage to the sticking place, Bishop," he admonished himself aloud. "This is just the beginning." Squaring his shoulders, he opened the door and stepped out into the hallway, where Olivia and Nina awaited. Plastering his best devil-may-care smile on his face, he turned in a circle, and said, "So, what do you think?"

"Blue is so last year, but you make it work," Olivia said, playing along.

Nina only smiled. "This way," she said, and started down the hall with Olivia and Peter following behind.

When they reached the infirmary's main theater, Nina swiped her ID and opened the door. "Good morning, Brandon," she said with a smile.

Brandon Fayette spun around, startled. "Oh! Ms. Sharp, good morning!" he said nervously. "Agent Dunham," he added, spying Olivia behind her. "And… " Peter stepped into the room. "Mr. Bishop, our star patient."

"Peter," he corrected. "Hey, Brandon."

"Right. Peter. Very good. Um, okay, I see you're all changed. That's super. And you haven't had any analgesics since…"

"Yesterday," Peter responded.

"Excellent. Great," Brandon said.

"Brandon, you okay? You look nervous," Peter asked. Great, he thought, the guy's so nervous that he really _might_ miss the vein.

"Me? No, no, I'm fine! I'm honored that Doctor Bishop asked me to administer your treatment today."

"He what?" Nina exclaimed.

"Don't worry," Peter said calmly. "It's fine."

"No, it's not," Olivia countered.

"I'd have to agree," Nina said tersely.

"Well, there's no way around it, so can we just get this show on the road, please?" Peter asked impatiently.

"Oh, of course," Brandon said. "Okay, Peter, just hop up here on the table, please?"

Olivia took Peter's hand and smiled. "You ready?"

Peter laughed, and swung their joined hands between them. "No. You?"

She shook her head. "No." She let go of his hand, and touched his cheek, pleased to feel it was a bit cooler than before.

He leaned down and kissed her quickly. "I love you," he said. Turning, he sat down on the table and swung his legs up.

Brandon wheeled a small cart over, bearing three large, ominous-looking syringes. "Are you comfortable?" he asked as Peter leaned back against the pillow behind him. "Would you like me to recline the bed a bit more?"

"Nah, I'm good. I want to be able to see this coming," he joked. Olivia took her position on the other side of the bed, slipping her hand into Peter's once more. "Is it okay if she stays here?"

"Oh, yeah, sure," Brandon answered. The young scientist looked down at the syringes on the cart and blanched. "Uh… "

"Brandon, would you like me to explain the procedure to Peter?" Nina asked, noticing how pale he'd become.

"Well, uh.. no… I just… "

"No need for that, I'll take it from here," Walter's voice boomed from the doorway. Everyone turned to see Walter, clad in his pristine, crisp white labcoat, a stethoscope around his neck, striding over to them.

Olivia looked over at Peter, whose eyes were shining a bit with unshed tears of relief. She had never seen him so happy to see Walter, ever. And she couldn't say she blamed Peter, although she still wanted to smack Walter herself.

"Terribly sorry," he said calmly, a sheepish smile creeping across his face. "I had my meeting dates confused. Thank you Brandon, you can go now." He looked at Nina. "Good morning."

"Good morning, Walter. It's so good to see you," Nina smiled meaningfully.

"And you. Would you mind if I had a word with my son privately? I'd like to go over the steps of the procedure with him."

Olivia looked at Peter, who nodded. "We'll be right over there," she said, pointing to the opposite corner of the room.

Peter and Walter watched as Nina, Olivia and Brandon walked away, then Walter turned his attention to Peter. "When I was first researching this disease, and devising a treatment, every time I tried, I realized that at least one of the components would cause discomfort upon administration. No way around it, no matter what I did."

He picked up pair of surgical gloves and donned them, then opened a pack containing IV tubing and a needle, laying them next to Peter on the bed. He took one of the tubes in his hand. "Make a fist, please son," he asked gently. Peter complied. "That's good." He poked the veins he saw in Peter's arm gently. "Ah, there's a nice juicy one," he said, smiling.

He tore open an alcohol swab pack and wiped it across Peter's skin, the picked up the IV needle and inserted it into the tubing, and connected the tube to the IV bag that hung next to the bed. "Hold still for me and keep that fist nice and tight," he said, not daring to look at his son's face before he slid the needle smoothly and quickly into Peter's vein, and taped it securely to his arm. "Wish Astrid was here for this."

"Me, too, but she's at her dad's birthday in Virginia." Peter smiled.

"Yes, I hope he likes the gift I sent with her."

"Walter, what did you…"

Walter patted his arm. "It's a collection of BB King albums. On vinyl. Astrid mentioned her father likes the blues." He reached up and squeezed the IV bag gently. "This is a glucose and saline drip to keep you hydrated," he said.

"Okay," Peter nodded.

"Now," Walter continued, "When I was sure I had the correct formulation for the cure, I sat down with… with Peter, to discuss what was going to happen. We sat down that morning over breakfast… "

"Pancakes?" Peter asked gently.

"Yes. Pancakes. And I told him that the treatment would be a bit painful at first. He was very brave, but it was the hardest thing I'd ever had to do." He took off the surgical gloves, and took Peter's free hand in his own. "I never wanted to have to look in my son's eyes and tell him I was going to have to hurt him to help him." He squeezed Peter's hand. "I'm sorry, son."

"Accepted, and forgiven," Peter said, squeezing back. "And don't worry, Dad, I can handle it."

Walter's face froze. "What? Walter, are you okay?" Peter asked.

"That's exactly what he said to me that morning," Walter answered. He took Peter's face in his hands, leaned down and kissed him on the forehead. "It's going to be all right."

"I know," Peter agreed.

Walter straightened and gestured to the others to come over. "All right then, let's proceed."


	3. Chapter 3

3.

When Astrid Farnsworth joined the FBI, her parents were, to say the least, disappointed. Her father, the Right Reverend James Farnsworth, had wanted her to use her God-given intellect, and facility with languages, for a higher purpose – missionary work, or something – rather than joining a government agency.

But Astrid stood firm, declaring she could help people in the FBI just as well as anywhere else, and in the end, her father and mother were there cheering her at her graduation from Quantico along with everyone else. The Reverend even indulged his own fatherly ego, declaring, "That's _my_ daughter," to anyone who would listen as he stood in the crowd with the other families.

The Farnsworth clan had gathered at the family farm in Virginia; Reverend and Amelia Farnsworth had wanted to buy a small farm ever since they had discovered that Amelia's great-great grandmother had been a slave on a Virginia plantation. It was modest, but had enough rooms to house all four of their children, and their families, when they came to visit.

Astrid's eldest brother, Donald, always teased that his sister was the only Farnsworth not to have found a spouse. "Sorry, Pop, no grandbabies from Astrid. Married to her career, that girl," Donnie would say with a humorless chuckle.

Her brother's words always made her blood boil, but she tamped down the anger today. Donnie had started with her the minute she'd walked through the door, but she was determined not to take the bait. So, there she stood in the large kitchen, five freshly-baked pies lined up before her on the counter.

"Well, someone certainly outdid herself," came a calm, amused voice behind her. She turned to look up into her father's face. She was the smallest person in the family, but she liked being able to gaze up at the Reverend's kind, benign – and in her opinion, handsome – face.

"I… I couldn't decide which one to bake… so I made them all!" she laughed.

James smiled down at her, then kissed her cheek. "I'm so glad you could make it, honey. I remember you telling us how crazy work's been lately."

_You have no idea_, she thought with a rueful smile. "It has been hectic, that's for sure. But most things have worked out just fine." She wished she could tell her father everything that had happened in the last few weeks, but exactly how do you tell your father, the minister, "Well, Dad, there were two universes at war, all because the man I work with stole his son from the alternate universe to save him from dying, but the son lived and stepped into a Doomsday Machine to save us all. It worked, but he re-wrote the timeline, and nobody remembered him, until he crawled out of a lake that drained suddenly, and made Walter remember while he was locked up in a mental institution. But again, he fixed everything, but now he's dying of the same disease he had as a child"?

Yeah, that would go over really well.

She still couldn't believe that Peter was sick. Realistically she knew, of course; it was hard not to notice that he had already started to lose weight, and was even paler than usual. One evening, Walter and Olivia were at a crime scene, leaving her and Peter to finish tests on the latest body delivered to the lab. When she hadn't seen him for a few minutes, she had walked into Walter's office to find Peter slumped over the desk, nearly delirious.

That was when, after driving Peter home, giving him Tylenol, and tucking him into bed herself, he had quietly told her of his illness. She sat at the side of the bed as he picked at non-existent lint on the blanket and explained that his childhood disease had returned. "I got returned to my factory settings, I guess," he had shrugged, attempting to lighten the mood.

"But Walter can re-administer the cure, right?" she had asked, wondering who she was really trying to reassure.

"He says he needs to do some more DNA testing to make sure it's completely compatible this time, but yeah, he thinks so." He smiled at Astrid nervously. "He _hopes_ so."

"Come on, Peter. Positive thinking," she had said matter-of-factly.

She wished she felt half as confident as she had sounded that day. She felt awful leaving her adopted family on the very day of Peter's treatment, but Peter himself had insisted. "It's your dad's birthday, Astrid. A special family occasion. You're going."

"You're family too," Astrid asserted.

Peter had taken her hands in his; Astrid was startled by how cold they were. "I know, but this is the time to be with your dad. I'll be fine. Olivia will be with me, and Walter, of course… "

"… of course… "

Astrid started. "Huh? Oh, sorry, Daddy, what were you saying?" she said, bringing her mind back to the present.

"All right, honey, what's going on?" James asked. "You didn't hear a word I just said."

"Nothing. I'm fine," she said with her best smile.

"Baby girl, don't you lie to me," he scolded her gently. "What's worrying you?"

Astrid sighed. "A friend of mine is sick."

"What friend? Someone at work?"

"Yeah. Remember I mentioned Peter Bishop?"

"Peter… that's the young man whose father you work with, right?" Astrid had mentioned the team she worked with, although she was stingy with the details most times. James knew her work involved some unusual things, and a lot of scientific research, and he was glad she was using her extraordinary mind so well, expanding it to areas he'd never thought she would be working in. James Farnsworth may have objected at first to his daughter's line of work, but he was the first to admit he may have been wrong.

"Yes. Peter and I work together, too."

"So, you're… _good_ friends?"

Astrid rolled her eyes. "Not like that, Daddy. But we are good friends. He says I'm his sister from another mother," she added, grinning through the tears that had begun to form in her eyes.

James laughed softly. "Well, now, that sounds like he's a very good friend. And you say he's ill? What's wrong with him?"

"He had a genetic disorder, a disease like bird flu, when he was a child. It almost killed him, but his father – Walter, you remember I spoke of him, too – Walter cured him. Or at least, we thought he did."

"This illness… whatever it is… it's recurred?" Astrid nodded, the lump in throat preventing sound from escaping. James took her hand. "I'm very sorry to hear that. What's his prognosis?"

"We don't know yet. He's going in today for treatment," she said.

"Ah," James said softly. "Do you have a photo of this friend of yours?" he asked.

Surprised at the question, Astrid stammered, "Uh… yeah, on my phone. Hang on." She reached into her pocket for her smartphone, and with a couple of clicks, pulled up a photo of herself and Peter. She had taken it on a slow, cleanup Sunday at the lab.

There was certainly no dress code at the lab, but Peter had come in that day unusually dressed in beaten-up, highly-distressed jeans, a gray t-shirt and what had to be the oldest plaid flannel shirt Astrid had ever seen. Sizing him up from his stubbled face to his well-worn lace-up boots, she had smiled at him. "Hey dude, how was the Pearl Jam concert?" she mocked.

"Funny," he said drolly. "This was all that was clean, _because someone forgot it was his turn to do the laundry_!" he added, his voice growing louder at the end.

Unfazed, Walter strolled past. "I did it twice last week," was his only response.

Olivia was dressed down as well, eschewing her usual black suit uniform for a pair of jeans and an oversized MIT t-shirt. "Thought you went to Northwestern," Astrid jibed, knowing perfectly well whose t-shirt it really was.

She walked around the lab for the rest of the day taking photos with her phone camera – Olivia alone and with Peter (including one of them kissing – to be used as blackmail later), Peter alone and with just about everyone else, and even one of Walter with Gene the cow that she used as his contact photo.

She had even shot some video of her surrogate family; she smiled at the memory of the ridiculously mundane conversation she had captured.

"So, we've known each other for how long now? Three, four years?" Astrid had said. "We know so much about each other, but I'll bet you ten bucks we don't know each other's middle names."

"Middle names? Seriously? Wow, you _must_ be bored today, Astrid," Peter snorted teasingly as he picked at the label on his beer bottle.

"Which, of course, means he _doesn't_ know any of our middle names," Olivia said sarcastically.

"Oh, you're so smart, Agent Dunham," Peter retorted. "What's mine, then, huh?"

"Your real one? Or one from your aliases?" Olivia shot back. Astrid loved the banter between these two.

"Ha Ha. My real one."

"It's… Um… " Olivia stammered, drawing a blank.

"Aha! See?" Peter cried gleefully. "You _don't_ know!"

Walter sat down next to Astrid, sipping the strawberry shake he had just concocted. "Albert," he said while slurping.

Peter rolled his eyes. "_She_ was supposed to guess, Walter, but thanks so much," he groaned.

"Albert?" Olivia said, her eyebrows rising up to her hairline as she sputtered with laughter.

"Yeah, like in Einstein. Walter wasn't aiming too high, huh?"

Astrid laughed. "I think it fits. Peter Albert Bishop. I like it!"

"Thank you, Astrid. I know I can always count on you," Peter replied pointedly. "Okay, so let me guess yours. I have a head start, because I remember your ID says Astrid C. Farnsworth. Okay…. Let's see… "

"Catherine?" Walter offered. Astrid shook her head.

"Charlotte!" Olivia guessed. Another shake of the head.

"Coretta," Peter said matter-of-factly.

Astrid's mouth dropped open in shock. "Yeah, it's Coretta. How did you guess?"

Peter smiled. "You mentioned when we were talking once that your dad had met Dr. King at Ebenezer Baptist, and that it was the third best day of his life – the second being the day he met your mom, and the first being the day his only daughter was born."

"Wow, you're good," Olivia said admiringly. Peter bowed. "So, what's mine? Now, remember, my name is actually Olive," she said, wrinkling her nose at the name. "I'll help you out – the initial is E."

"Elizabeth?" Walter asked softly.

Olivia's face fell slightly; she hadn't even realized she shared a name with Walter's late wife, and Peter's beloved mother. "Yes, Walter, that's right. It's Elizabeth."

Astrid looked over at Peter, who was smiling wistfully. "That's a good name," was all he had said.

"Astrid?" Her father's voice again broke through her reverie.

Astrid swiped a hand across her eyes, and handed her father the phone. "That's Peter," she said, pointing to the young man in the photo standing behind her with his arm around her, and his head resting on top of hers.

"I thought you said Peter was some kind of scientific genius," James said, surprised by the youthful face in the photo. "He looks like he's not much more than a boy."

"He's older than he looks there," Astrid said. "He's the oldest soul I've ever met."

"How so?" James asked, intrigued. His youngest daughter rarely discussed spiritual matters with him; to call this young man an old soul, his friendship must touch her deeply.

"He's gone through a lot in his life – he's only 33. Illness, separation from his family, abuse… he lived a lot of his life like a nomad. Been all over the world. And considering everything he's seen, everything he's been through, he could be the most bitter, jaded man in the world."

"But he's not?"

Astrid shook her head, half in reply and half in amazement. "No, he's not. Oh, he was different when I first met him – there was definitely bitterness there – but he grew, Daddy. Changed. Became better. I know I never really understood when you preached about spiritual rebirth, but I think I've seen it happen right in front of me with Peter." She looked at the photo of the smiling face clowning for the camera. "He's a kind man… a _good_ man, Daddy. Capable of such great things. And now, he could be taken away from us." She looked from the photo to her father, fixing him with her gaze. "What's the Lord's plan with something like that, huh?" she asked almost accusatorily.

James looked again at the photo. "He has a good face," he said. "Astrid, I don't know what the plan is, but I believe there is one. It's not for us to know. And I know that's no kind of answer when someone you love is in pain. But I do know one thing."

"What's that?"

"I know he's both a very lucky, and a very deserving young man, to have earned your affection and admiration this way." He touched the face in the photo. "God Bless you, Peter Bishop." He looked at his tearful daughter. "We'll lift him up in prayer every night, baby, I promise. And when he's well again, you be sure and let me know, and we will praise God in all His glory."

Astrid reached up and kissed her father on the cheek. "Thank you, Daddy."

"There's something I'd like you to do for my birthday, Astrid," he said sternly.

"Anything."

"Put on your coat, and let me drive you to the airport. We'll get you on the next plane back to Boston, so you can be with your friend."

"Daddy, no! It's your birthday!" Astrid protested.

"And you have given me the greatest gift a man could ever receive – you've shown the goodness of your heart, and the sweetness of your soul, and made me proud. I have the rest of this bunch here to keep me entertained; I want you to go to Peter, and pray for him, and be with him and his father. Walter, right?" Astrid nodded. "I can imagine how frightened he must be, and from what you've told me, he's very fond of you as well. You'll be a great comfort to him." James pulled Astrid into a bear hug. "I am so proud of you, my angel," he said as he rocked her. "What a kind soul you are, and I am a blessed man. I want to share my blessings with young Peter." He grabbed his car keys from the counter as Astrid went to get her coat.

When she returned, she saw her father dressed in his own coat, and holding a tote bag. "Daddy, what's that?"

"It's one of the pies you brought. I think it'll be put to better use in Boston." He handed her the bag. "Besides, Donnie's put on a few pounds, and this is his favorite flavor. Get thee behind me, Satan!" he laughed, Astrid joining him as they headed to the car for the drive to the airport.


	4. Chapter 4

4

"Now, to explain the procedure in more detail," Walter began as he donned a fresh pair of surgical gloves, "The first injection will be to prepare your system to accept the introduction of the treatment serum." He picked up the first, and smallest, of the syringes.

Peter eyed it for a moment, then looked up at Walter. "Dare I ask what's in that?"

"Oh, just a neural inhibitor, son," Walter replied casually.

"Oh, that's all," Peter nodded. "So… that bad, huh?"

"There will be… some discomfort during the second injection. Do you remember when you had your MRI with contrast a while back?"

"Yeah, the MRI was a breeze, but the contrast injection hurt like a son of a bitch." Looking sheepishly at Nina and Olivia, he added, "Pardon my French."

"Considering the circumstances, Peter," Nina said kindly, "I'd say you're entitled to say far worse than that today." She patted his arm as he smiled at her.

"Well," Walter continued, "The discomfort of the second injection will be… considerably greater."

"Nicely understated, Walter," Peter joked.

Olivia slipped her hand into Peter's. "Well, if it hurts, you just squeeze my hand, okay?"

Peter looked at Walter, who shook his head slightly. "No, that's okay, hon. I'm fine. Besides, I like your hand too much," he said, kissing her hand in his.

"Truly, Olivia, if you want to keep the use of that hand, I wouldn't," Walter interjected.

Olivia's eyes widened in alarm. "Just what the hell are you giving him, Walter?"

"Why, I told you, dear. It's a neural inhibitor."

"Not _this_ injection," Olivia snapped, gesturing at the syringe in Walter's hand. "The second one."

"Oh, yes. Well… "

"Olivia, leave him alone," Peter chided her gently. "It's not his fault the cure is almost as bad as the disease. I mean, think of chemotherapy."

Olivia sighed and squeezed his hand. "I know… it's just… " She looked at his raised eyebrow. "Okay, fine. I know. I'm sorry, Walter. Of course I know you only want to help Peter."

"That's perfectly all right, dear. It warms my heart to see how well Peter is loved. Although I have had auditory evidence of that coming from Peter's room at home from time to time. For two rather quiet people, you're both delightfully vocal during intercourse. Why, just last week, I could have sworn I heard … "

"Jesus, Walter," Peter said, his face reddening from something other than illness. "Just stick me with that damn thing, will ya, before I die of embarrassment?"

Olivia started to laugh, then leaned over and kissed Peter's hair. "So proper," she teased.

Walter grinned. "So unlike his father, eh?" His smile disappeared as quickly as it came. "All right, then. Ready, son?"

"Hit me," Peter said, holding his arm out to Walter.

"Now, after the initial… discomfort, the medication will cause a spike in body temperature. Your temp is currently… " Walter picked up a thermometer and gently placed it in Peter's ear. When it beeped, he removed it. "One hundred two point one. I'm afraid it will go quite a bit higher than that."

"Oh," Peter said quietly. "Didn't know about that particular side effect. So, I'm looking forward to some psychedelic moments as well, huh? Awesome."

"Anything else, Walter?" Olivia asked testily.

"No, I think that's all. Brandon has an ice bath and cooling blankets prepared, but I would like to try to avoid using them if at all possible. The longer Peter can hold out, the better the chances of the treatment taking effect."

"Kind of like piling on blankets to sweat out a fever?" Peter suggested.

"A-plus, son, precisely," Walter responded fondly. "It might not sound like the most scientific method, but in this instance, it's the best course to take. All righty, then," he said, taking a deep breath. "Good luck to us all."

Walter removed the needle cover, and pressed the plunger slightly to assure there were no air bubbles. He then injected the contents of the syringe into the IV port already in place in Peter's arm. "One down, two to go," Peter said softly, exhaling a breath he didn't realize he'd been holding.

"Now, you won't fall asleep. You need to be conscious for the actual treatment," Walter explained as he hesitantly picked up the second syringe.

"So, I was awake when you treated me before?" Peter asked. He blinked a few times, and watched as Walter's face swam in and out of focus.

Olivia felt his grip on her hand loosen. "You okay?" she asked softly.

"Think so," he replied, squinting at her. "Although, you did just grow a second head."

"Actually, no, you weren't awake last time," Walter said in answer to Peter's question. "The Observer had just saved us from Reiden Lake, and you were unconscious." He frowned as he again checked for air bubbles in the next syringe. "I wonder if perhaps that was a contributing factor to the cure not completely working. Your neural pathways weren't as open as they should have been, and your natural blockers worked to only allow the cure to make the illness dormant, rather than curing it."

"You can't know that for certain, Walter," Nina said encouragingly. "You did your best for him. He's here now because you did."

Peter's slowly turned his head toward Nina. He felt like everything was moving in slow motion. Nodding and waving his hand absent-mindedly, he said, "Yup… what she said."

"Thank you. Thank you both," Walter said, fighting his emotions. He held the needle to the IV port. Hesitating, he looked in Peter's eyes, and said, "When it starts, you grab onto me and don't let go. I've got you, son. All right?"

"All set," Peter replied as he released Olivia's hand and took hold of the bed railing instead. "Let's go."

Walter took another deep breath and pressed the plunger.

Peter tried to keep his breathing even, figuring he could breathe through whatever was coming. It worked for about five seconds, until the first wave of pain hit him, a searing sensation that began at the IV site and rapidly spread throughout his body; his back arched in response, a low, keening sound escaping from his lips as every muscle seemed to cramp simultaneously.

"Peter," Olivia gasped, reaching for his hand.

Nina held her back. "No, Olivia. Walter's right. Let him handle this," she admonished her.

Walter reached over and placed his hand on Peter's forehead as another spasm wracked him. His entire body arched off the bed, and he suddenly grasped Walter by the lapels of his lab coat. "Shit!" Peter cried out, burying his face in Walter's shirt. "Oh, God, oh, God, oh God…" He squeezed his eyes shut as tears leaked out from beneath them.

Walter grasped him firmly to his chest, his left hand buried in Peter's hair. "I've got you, son. It's okay, I'm here. It'll be over soon. It's okay." He rocked him slightly.

The spasms went on for nearly three minutes, as Peter's face turned increasingly flushed, veins standing out prominently in his neck as he seemed to will himself not to scream.

"Make it stop, Dad, please, make it stop," Peter finally pleaded through gritted teeth.

"Shh, I've got you. It's almost over," Walter cooed to his son. "Just breathe for me. In and out, in and out… "

After another minute, the more severe spasms stopped, replaced by a constant trembling. Walter threaded his hand through Peter's sweaty hair, feeling his son's temperature rising at an alarming rate. "Nina," he whispered, "The thermometer, please."

Nina took the thermometer and maneuvered it into Peter's ear. She gasped softly when she saw the reading. "One-oh-six," she said, her voice trembling. Touching Peter's cheek gently, she stepped away.

"Okay," Walter said calmly, still holding Peter in his arms. "Peter, you're doing just fine. Do you hear me?"

Peter's eyes opened, and his vice grip on Walter's coat loosened slightly. Staring at the wall behind his father, he seemed a million miles away. "How… " he said in a barely audible voice.

"Peter," his mother said as she stepped out from behind Walter. "My darling boy. My precious boy," she said in a singsong voice.

"Mom?" Peter murmured.

Olivia's eyes widened. "What… "

Nina put her arm around Olivia's shoulder, her own concern growing. "Peter, are you with us?" she asked, trying to distract him from whatever vision seemed to be frightening him.

"Precious, beautiful boy. Two worlds destroyed for my beautiful, treasured boy… " the vision of Elizabeth spat, her face growing hard. "Couldn't breathe for my beautiful boy… carful of exhaust fumes, all for my beautiful boy."

Peter watched, horrified, as his mother's face grew ashen, her clear blue eyes – so like his own – dulling to an opaque gray. Zombie-like, "Elizabeth" lurched forward toward Peter, her shrunken hand pointing at him.

"I'm sorry, Mom," Peter said tearfully. "I didn't mean to. I tried to fix it." He tried to pull away from Walter, but Walter maintained a grip on his shoulders to steady him.

"Destroyer of worlds," the horrifying, decaying vision accused. "είσαι όπως ακριβώς ο πατέρας σου."

"No, Mama, no," Peter pleaded. "I'm not. I swear."

"But you are." Olivia – his wife, from 2026, appeared next to Elizabeth, a bullet hole oozing blood in the middle of her forehead. "You let this happen. You _made_ this happen. You killed us all."

"No, no, no… "

"Peter!" Walter barked, shaking his son slightly. "Whatever she's saying, don't you listen. It's not real, son. Your mother loved you. She loves you still. You have done nothing wrong."

"But O-Olivia," Peter stammered, his glassy eyes still focused on the shades of the two women he loved most.

"What the hell?" Olivia asked, confused. "Peter," she said, stepping into his field of vision, "I'm right here, baby. I'm right here. " She placed a hand on his cheek, almost recoiling at the heat radiating from it. "And I love you. You hear me?"

Peter dragged his delirious gaze to Olivia's, shaking his head violently. "I'm not like him, I'm not. He killed you, and I couldn't stop him." He looked back at the hallucination. "Can't stop any of it."

FutureOlivia smirked at him. "Well, if you can't beat us, join us."

Peter's eyes rolled back in his head and he began convulsing.

Olivia supported Peter's neck as best she could as Nina threw the pillows off the bed and Walter held him down, one hand again placed on his forehead. "Brandon!" Walter bellowed.

Brandon scrambled into the room, carrying a silver blanket and two packs. "Thank you," Walter said crisply. "The ice bath is ready?"

"Yes, sir," Brandon said, his eyes glued on Walter's convulsing son. "I brought ice packs as well," he added, holding them out to Walter.

Nina took the blanket. "Lift him back up, Walter," she commanded. Walter complied, scooping the seizing Peter back into his arms. Nina spread the cooling blanket beneath Peter, then nodded, and Walter lowered him back down on top.

Walter took one of the ice packs and placed it under Peter's arm, while handing the other to Olivia. "Please, dear," he said as he continued to restrain Peter. "We've got you, son," he whispered.

Olivia placed her pack under Peter's other arm, keeping her hand on his upper arm and stroking the hot skin there gently with her thumb. "Come back, Peter, please," she pleaded with him.

About a minute – which seemed to them all like an hour - later, the convulsions subsided, and Walter released his hold. "You can empty the ice bath, Brandon, we won't be needing it," he said calmly to the traumatized lab assistant.

"Um, right, okay. Yes, sir," he stuttered, then scurried away.

"Such a nervous young man," Walter commented, while stroking Peter's hair. He picked up the thermometer again, and with trembling hands, took his son's temperature. "One hundred and three point six. Excellent." He leaned down and kissed Peter on the forehead. "You're all right now."

Peter stirred slightly. "Oh, thank God," Olivia said, finally exhaling. "Peter?"

His eyes fluttered open. "Olivia?" He reached out a shaking hand. "My Olivia?"

Olivia took his hand firmly in hers and kissed it. "Who else were you expecting?" she said lightly.

"Don't wanna know," he mumbled. "Walter?"

"I'm here, my boy," Walter smiled as he prepared the last syringe.

"That… really sucked."

"So it seemed," Walter replied dryly. "But you did extremely well. I'm… " He struggled for composure for a second, then continued, "I'm quite optimistic." He cleared his throat. "This final injection is a mild sedative."

"'Kay," Peter said hazily. "Oh, wait. Hey, Walter?" he added, fighting to stay awake.

"Yes, son?"

Peter reached up and patted his father's arm. "Well done, Dr. Bishop," he said with a sleepy smile.

Walter covered Peter's hand with his. "Thank you," was all Walter could say as a tear made its way down his cheek.

"Olivia… " Peter muttered again.

Olivia squeezed his shoulder gently. "Still right here."

"Did you just call me… _baby_?" he slurred as sleep came.

**NOTE**: I've revised the Greek saying, with many thanks to **hurtangel26**!


	5. Chapter 5

5.

Olivia splashed some water on her face, then dried it with a towel and checked her appearance in the ladies' room mirror. She didn't want Peter to see she had been crying while he was sleeping; Peter was one of the few people in her life that Olivia could, and would, let her guard down with, but right now he had enough to deal with, and Olivia had to be strong for him.

Peter's treatment had been one of the worst ordeals Olivia had ever been through. Seeing his terror at the hallucinations he experienced made her feel as utterly helpless – and angry – as she had ever felt. What good was an entire career in the military, and then the FBI and Fringe Division, if she couldn't help the one person she loved more than anything in the world?

Shaking her head, she straightened her back and smoothed her hair into its usual ponytail. "None of that, Dunham," she said to her reflection before turning and stepping out of the restroom. Her game face firmly in place, she strode down the corridor back to the treatment room and opened the door, only to find Peter already on his feet and seemingly in search of something. "If you're looking for your clothes, I hid them – for just this reason," she said casually.

Peter spun around, startled, and nearly toppled over. Olivia rushed to his side, steadying him. "Uh… hi," he said sheepishly.

"Hi, yourself," Olivia replied tersely. "Sit." Peter obediently sat down on the corner of the treatment bed and looked up at her with his best attempt at puppy dog eyes; Olivia couldn't help but smile. "Hmm… I l kind of like this whole doing-as-you're-told thing," she joked, signaling to him that she wasn't angry.

A relieved smile brightened Peter's face. "Don't get too used to it, sweetheart. I'm not at my best here."

"Oh, I know. I've… _experienced_ you at your best, Bishop," she teased, sidling up to stand between his legs and running her fingers through his hair to surreptitiously take his temperature. He felt cooler than he had in days, and Olivia rewarded him with a deep, languorous kiss.

"You ain't seen nothin' yet." Peter's arms snaked around her waist, his mouth opening on a sigh as her tongue slipped in to dance sensuously with his. Suddenly dizzy, he reluctantly pulled away. "Whoa," he gasped.

"Down, boy," Olivia chuckled as she kissed the top of his head. Tipping his chin up to face her, she said, "You look so much better already."

"I _feel_ so much better," he replied happily.

"Really?"

"Really. Olivia, I don't know what miracle elixir Walter cooked up, but I… I think it worked, hon, I really do."

"Hon?" Olivia questioned playfully.

"_Baby_?" He countered suggestively, standing back up with his arms still around her waist.

Olivia erupted in laughter, wrapping her arms around his neck and rocking them back and forth. "Look at us, acting all kinds of domestic."

Peter didn't think life could get any better; just the sight of Olivia laughing and joking, right there in his arms, was about as perfect as it could get. "I know, right? We should just get married and get it over with." He felt Olivia stiffen in his arms. "What? Olivia, what's wrong?"

Olivia's face flushed. "Nothing," she said. "It's just… Peter, you're joking, right?"

"What, about getting married?"

"Yes, about getting married," she said, flustered. "I mean, we couldn't possibly think about… "

"Whoa, take it easy," he chuckled. "Don't worry. For now, the marriage discussion is officially tabled, at least until I can stand up on my own at the altar." Peter watched as she exhaled with relief. "But it's a temporary reprieve for you, Agent Dunham, make no mistake. Because we _are_ going to be married."

"Oh, really? Happily ever after, huh?" Olivia suggested, the warm smile returning to her face.

Peter drew her back into his arms, kissing the top of her head as he fought back memories of lighting his wife's funeral pyre. "Absolutely," he said, hugging her to him fiercely. "Happily ever after. I promise."

"Excuse me, you two, but am I interrupting something?" Astrid called as she appeared in the doorway, grinning.

"Astrid!" Peter exclaimed as he released Olivia from his embrace, "What are you doing here? You're supposed to be in Virginia."

Astrid rushed over and wrapped her arms around Peter tightly. "I was so worried about you," she murmured into his chest as he hugged her back.

Peter smiled and kissed her curly hair. "Aw, now… I'm okay, Astrid. I'm gonna be okay. I mean, check me out. Here's me, standing up and coherent and everything."

"Well, sort of standing," Olivia corrected. "Let's see how you do without one of us holding you up."

"Busted," Astrid smirked. "But I must say, Mr. Bishop, you look a whole lot better than the last time I saw you. Walter's treatment seems to be working."

"Well, it's… " Peter looked over at the clock on the wall. "Six hours and counting, and I'm still feeling better. Not a hundred percent, of course, but better. Last time they checked my temp, it was a hundred and one."

"Nice," Astrid agreed. "Shoot for a hundred point nine next!"

"Yeah, I'm going crazy with my bad self," Peter joked. His face fell when he saw the tears still streaking Astrid's face. "Hey, come on, now, I'm gonna be okay," he repeated, wiping her tears away with his thumbs. "Gimme a smile. I hate knowing I'm the cause of this."

Sniffling, Astrid nodded and smiled. "You'd better be okay. I stole back my brother's favorite pie for you."

"Really? What flavor?" Peter asked eagerly.

"He _is_ his father's son," Olivia sighed. "What do you say we start with a little soup later? At home. In bed. Then, we'll work our way up to the pie."

Peter folded his arms, sulking. "You're no fun."

"Azamara! I didn't expect you back so soon!" Walter chirped as he strode into the room.

Astrid rolled her eyes at Peter and Olivia. "Great, now I'm a cruise line." She turned to Walter. "I know, Walter, I came back early . Looks like the treatment's going really well."

"It is! Peter, your first set of labs just came back, and the results are rather spectacular, if I do say so myself," Walter said proudly after giving Astrid a hug. "Now, we're not out of the woods yet. While I did manage to concentrate the cure into a single treatment, you'll have to take it easy for a little while, as the effects are timed-release."

"What's a little while?" Peter asked suspiciously.

"About a week," Walter replied, pulling a Red Vine out of his lab coat pocket and holding it out to Peter. "Your blood sugar is a little low."

Peter shrugged and took the proffered candy. "Thanks. A week? I think I can handle that," he said as he bit off a chunk.

"Broyles has already pre-approved a little vacation time for me, so I can stay home with you," Olivia said.

"Olivia, you don't have to do that," Peter replied.

"Hey, I deserve a vacation, ya know," she teased.

"Yeah, from _me_," Peter groused.

"Oh, nonsense," Walter interjected. "I was thinking… "

"Uh-oh," Peter mused, prompting a smack on the arm from Astrid.

Ignoring Peter, he continued, "I asked Kevin to send some people to the lake house to clean it up, and stock the fridge. If you like, you could spend a few days out there resting, son. The weather report for the week is absolutely marvelous, and the fresh air and sunshine will do you a world of good." He rested his palm against Peter's cheek. "Put a little color back in that face, yes?"

Peter covered Walter's hand with his. "Yes," he agreed. "That'd be terrific, Walter. Thank you." He looked over at Olivia. "Sorry, hon, I didn't even ask. That okay with you?"

Olivia smiled. "It sounds lovely. Thank you, Walter."

Walter beamed with pride and happiness. "You're very welcome, dear. It's my pleasure. You two can head on up in the next couple of days. Olivia, I'd like you both to come back to the house tonight, though, rather than your apartment, if that's all right. I'd like to keep an eye on Peter for the next 24 to 48 hours."

"Of course," she agreed immediately.

"Astrid, dear, you'll join us at home, won't you? I have a huge crock pot full of chicken gumbo in the fridge that Peter and I made. It just needs a quick heatup. I'll pick up some of that wonderful French bread at the market on the way home. We'll have a nice quiet family night."

"Family night?" Astrid asked, as she felt Peter's arm slip around her shoulder.

"Family night," Peter said softly, giving her a squeeze. "Sounds fantastic to me. And I'm playing the 'humor the invalid,' card. So, say yes."

"Yes!" Astrid exclaimed. "But, seriously… "

"What?" Peter asked, concerned.

"A couple of white guys from Boston making gumbo? I'll believe it when I taste it."

_0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0_

Astrid and Olivia had volunteered to clean up after dinner – which had been declared, "Shockingly authentic and yummy," by Astrid – and were happily gossiping and washing dishes as Walter helped Peter settle on the couch.

"Are you comfortable, son?" Walter asked, taking a throw from the back of the couch as Peter stretched his long legs out with a sigh.

"Yeah, I'm fine, Walter, just a little knocked out – and stuffed," Peter smiled. "I don't think I've eaten that much in days."

"Yes, your appetite was good tonight. It was very good," Walter said, patting his son's arm gently.

Peter stopped Walter's hand as the older man started to cover him with the throw. "I'm okay, thanks," he said gently. He watched patiently as Walter then picked up the thermometer on the coffee table and placed it in his ear. At the beep, he said, "So, what's the verdict, doc?" Walter just stared at the reading, his eyes welling. "Walter? You're making me a little nervous here, Dad. What does it say?"

Walter looked at his son with a watery smile. "Ninety-nine point two. Just… glorious," he said, his voice barely a whisper.

"Excellent," Peter said with self-satisfaction. "Like I said before – well done, Doctor Bishop." Walter remained still, standing above Peter smiling with tears in his eyes. "Hey. Come on, Walter, sit down," he said, sitting up himself and taking Walter's arm to guide him to the chair next to him. "You did something truly amazing today," Peter continued. "You saved my life – again. I don't know what I ever did to deserve this kind of… this kind of love. To be honest, I don't think I _do_ deserve it. But… thank you."

"Of course you deserve it!" Walter exclaimed. "I'd say that saving two universes entitles one to a certain modicum of affection and loyalty from those he's saved." At Peter's grin, Walter added, "But I suppose you know I loved you long before that."

"Yeah, I kinda guessed."

The two men sat in comfortable silence for a few moments, before Walter said, "May I ask you something, son?"

"Sure, go ahead."

Walter leaned forward in his chair. "Do you remember anything from your delirium this morning?"

The brief silence that followed was anything but comfortable for Peter. "Um… no, not really."

Walter's eyebrow rose. "What's that term Olivia uses with you? Full disclosure?"

Peter rolled his eyes. "Great, now she's got _you_ doing it. Okay. Yeah, I remember it, strangely enough."

"I know you saw your mother, and that what she was saying to you was rather distressing," Walter said, navigating the emotional waters carefully. "She… says rather distressing things to me, too… in my dreams. But you need to know that her suicide was not your fault. Not at all. It would have happened had you stayed, son. I'm actually glad you weren't here to see her like that."

Peter swallowed hard against the lump in his throat. "Okay," he said.

"She loved you so very dearly, Peter. We, each in our way, couldn't face up to what we had done to you, despite loving you so much. I went insane, and your mother took her life. But it was because of _what we did_, not because of you. Do you understand?"

"Yeah, Walter," Peter said, gratefully. "Yeah, I do."

Walter reached out and squeezed his hand. "Good. Now, tell me what else you saw. I know it wasn't just your mother."

Peter pulled his hand away, wrapping his arms around himself. "I… no, Walter. I can't. I don't want to."

"Peter," Walter commanded, tugging on his son's arms and grasping his hands. "What did you see? Was it something from your time in the Machine? You never told us what you saw, not really."

Walter looked into his father's eyes, wanting desperately to unburden himself. He'd been carrying 15 extra years of memories – memories of something that had yet to happen, and probably wouldn't. But those memories were still very real to him. And just as painful. "We were married," he said in a small voice. "Olivia and I. In the future."

"How wonderful!" Walter said.

"And she died. She was murdered. Shot… in the head… " His voice trailed off even more as he swiped angrily at the tears that threatened.

"Oh. Oh, son, I'm so sorry," Walter said, taking Peter's hands again and rubbing them gently. "It's all right, though. She's here, and she's fine."

"It was Walternate. My _father_," he said, spitting the last word out like a poison.

"Dear God. The bastard. That heartless, vicious bastard," Walter growled.

"She said it was my fault. Said I did it to her. And she was right. He tricked me, I didn't know he'd do it, I thought he was… " Peter shook his head. "She said I should die."

"Oh, my," Walter said, getting up from his chair to sit closer to Peter on the table right beside him. Placing his hands on Peter's shoulders, he said, "Well, there! You see then? None of that is true – it was just something your own mind conjured up. Olivia would never, ever blame you for something like that. But you, son… you have to let go of that guilt. It's a different world now. Literally. And you saved it. You saved _her_. All of us. It won't happen, and everything is going to be all right now."

Peter nodded, suddenly finding Walter's shirt front more interesting than his face. Walter tenderly tilted Peter's gaze back up to his own. "It was just a nightmare, Peter. Of course, you shouldn't die. You mustn't. And you won't. Not until you're at least, I don't know, ninety or so, and have given me five beautiful grandchildren."

"All of whom look like me," Olivia said, taking a seat in the chair Walter had vacated.

"And that I get to babysit," Astrid said, standing behind Walter.

"You see? It's all set," Walter concluded. "You're outnumbered, son. And you're stuck with us."

Peter smiled up at his highly unorthodox family. "Yeah, I guess I am," he agreed. "And there's nowhere I'd rather be."


	6. Chapter 6

6. **Rated a mild M**…

Olivia sat curled on the couch in the living room at the lake house enjoying her morning coffee. Peter was still asleep in their bedroom down the hall; she had been loath to leave the warmth of his arms, but nature had called, and then her addiction to caffeine overrode her desire to return to bed. Besides, Peter was exhausted and needed the sleep; she was lucky he had not woken when she got up, and she knew he would wake if she went back.

Their first couple of nights at the newly-refurbished lake house had been quiet. Uneventful. And absolute heaven. Peter, still a bit groggy from the sedatives following Walter's treatment, was docile to the point of hilarity as Olivia steered him from doorway to living room, from shower to bedroom. She briefly allowed herself the luxury of imagining doing something similar with a sleepy little boy with his father's eyes someday, then inwardly scolded herself. They were happy, she thought; why mess it up with pipe dreams of domestic bliss?

That first night, as Peter settled under the sumptuous new down covers on their luxuriously appointed bed, Olivia climbed in with him, and wrapped her arms around him possessively.

"'s'okay, Livia," he slurred, Eskimo-kissing her tenderly. "Not goin' anywhere, okay?" he whispered, his lips barely grazing hers. "Sleep."

She fell asleep in his arms, and didn't dream.

On the third night, following a sexy chess lesson where Peter gave new meaning to capturing her queen, she sat in an empty guest bedroom going through boxes of old photos. Peter wandered in to find her seated cross-legged on the floor surrounded by his family memories, and said, "I was wondering where my Sox jersey went to," pointing to the button-down baseball jersey she wore over her pajama shorts.

"Sorry," she said half-heartedly. "I already had some stuff in the washing machine, and this was clean."

"No worries, it looks better on you anyway," he said, easing himself down onto the floor next to her. "So, a little Bishop family memory lane, huh? Seen anything you like?" He picked up a random photo and looked at it for a moment. "Okay, _that's_ me."

"Sorry?"

"It's me. _Me_, me. I was about nine here. Mom had just bought the camera, and was obsessed with it. Followed me around for days taking pictures. I thought she was going to follow me into the bathroom once." He chuckled ruefully.

"It must be hard, being surrounded by photos that may or may not be of you," Olivia said sympathetically.

"It was, I guess," Peter shrugged. "But, a part of me now just sort of accepts it. It's become kind of a game for me – 'Guess Which Peter.'" He put the photo back in the pile on the floor and leaned his head against the wall.

"You okay? Maybe you should go back to bed, get more sleep," Olivia said, running her hand through his hair for about the tenth time already that day.

"Nah, I'm good," he said, straightening up and picking up another photo. "Wow, check her out, huh? Mom was quite the hottie." He handed Olivia a photo, taken before her marriage to Walter.

Olivia turned it over. "Lizzie, O'Connell Street, 1974." Her head cocked. "O'Connell Street?"

"Dear Dirty Dublin, as she used to call it. She went to Trinity College. Got her degree at sixteen."

"She was so beautiful," Olivia said.

"Still is… over there," Peter replied, his eyes taking on a distant look.

Trying to lighten the mood, Olivia added, "It's no wonder you're so cute, Bishop. Walter's a pretty strapping guy, and your mom… well, your mom was a damn supermodel."

"Aw, shucks. You ain't so bad yourself, Dunham," Peter said, nudging her.

"Yeah, right. I'm a real dreamgirl," she said derisively.

"Hey, now," Peter said, standing abruptly. "Don't talk about my girl like that. Come on, get up." He held his hand out to her.

"Huh?" Olivia said, taken aback by his sudden indignation, but taking his hand all the same.

He yanked her up, and walked her over to a tall, tarp-covered piece of furniture. Yanking the tarp to the floor, he uncovered a tall, full-length mirror. Positioning her in front of the mirror, with himself standing behind her, he said, "I want you to take a look. A real look. What do you see?"

Olivia shrugged. "I see me. Us."

"You," he repeated. "You, Olivia… Sorry, _Olive_ Elizabeth Dunham, are the most beautiful woman in the world."

Olivia turned around and tried to walk away. "Oh, please," she said, but Peter yanked her back into place, his arm now wrapped around her from behind. "Peter, come on, seriously."

Still gazing at the two of them in the mirror, Peter ran his fingers along her face as she leaned into his touch. "I am serious. Just look at you. So strong… " his fingers trailed down to her neck, tracing the top of the baseball jersey. "You save me every day, and sometimes all I have to do is look at you for you to do it."

Olivia sighed as Peter's hand dipped inside the shirt, grazing her bare breast. "Open your eyes," he whispered into her ear, sending a shiver down her spine. "I want you to see yourself as I see you." His thumb delicately moved over her now-taut nipple, and her eyes popped open.

She saw herself in the mirror – face flushed, head tilted back against Peter's chest as he unbuttoned the jersey and it fell open. She looked wild, aroused, free. "You," she said in a small voice as he slid the jersey from her shoulders. "You make me feel beautiful."

He ran his hands along her shoulders, down her arms, then encircled her waist. He then delicately, and with exquisite slowness, ghosted has hands up her sides and back to her breasts. "No," he breathed into her ear again as one hand played with a breast as the other slid down again toward her shorts. "I just help you to see what's already there. Watch… "

His hand slid past the waistband, and down the soft skin of her bare stomach. "Peter," she groaned as his fingers reached her most sensitive spot. "Oh, God," she sighed as he touched her. She arched back, her trembling legs buckling as Peter held her upright.

"Open your eyes," he commanded again softly. She obeyed, and watched his ministrations in the mirror as she felt herself falling over the edge. "You're _beautiful_, Olivia," he said as her release shook her to her very soul.

When she could stand on her own, she turned and crushed her mouth to his, and slamming them both against the wall. "Bed. Now," she growled into his mouth.

"Yes, ma'am, he gasped as they stumbled toward the bedroom.

-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-

Walter arrived the following morning. "Good morning!" he crowed to Olivia and Peter, who were having coffee. "Ah, son, you look marvelous. Lots of color in your cheeks. What have you two been up to?" he asked slyly.

"Not much," Peter said innocently. "Lots of bed rest, some chess, a little art appreciation…"

Olivia smacked his arm. "It's been lovely here, Walter, thank you."

"Art appreciation," Walter mused as he kissed Olivia's cheek and mussed Peter's hair on his way to the kitchen. "Is that what they're calling intercourse these days?"

-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-

Peter stirred at the sound of Olivia's cell phone buzzing. He lifted his head from the pillow to see if Olivia was awake, then gingerly reached over her to answer the offending device. Rolling away from his still-sleeping partner, he quietly answered, "Hello?"

"Bishop?" Broyles' voice boomed on the other end.

"No, this is Agent Dunham's answering service. Can I take a message?" he joked. To his surprise, he heard something vaguely resembling a chuckle come from the other end of the line. "Sorry, she's still asleep. "

"I gathered as much. Glad to hear you're feeling better, Peter, and I'm sorry to have to interrupt Agent Dunham's time off, but there's been an incident."

Olivia rolled over to face Peter. "Whoizit?" she mumbled.

"Broyles," he mouthed. "Hang on, sir, I'm putting Olivia on."

Olivia smiled at Peter as she took the phone. "I'm sorry, sir. I hardly ever sleep through the phone ringing."

"You're on vacation, Agent Dunham. It's allowed. Unfortunately, I'm going to have to cut that vacation short," Broyles said, sounding genuinely remorseful.

"That's all right," she said, despite her disappointment, and Peter's sour look.

Peter rose and opened the curtains in the bedroom as Olivia listened to Broyles for a moment. "I'll be there as soon as I can, sir. Yes, sir." She turned to Peter, who still stood by the window. "I guess you heard, huh?"

Peter nodded. "What's up?"

She patted his side of the bed. "Come back to bed for a minute, huh?" At his quizzical look, she added, "Please?"

Hesitantly, he came back and sat down. "Olivia, what's going on?"

She took his hands in hers. "There's been a Fringe event ."

"What? But I thought all the vortices and thin spots were closing," he said.

"This is a new one. It's in Essex County, Massachusetts. A portion of a building has completely vanished."

"Part of a building? How? Did a portal open? Was there any kind of electromagnetic signature attached?" When Olivia didn't answer, Peter squeezed her hand. "Olivia… what aren't you telling me? This building in Essex County… what building is it?"

"It's… Peter, an entire wing at St. Claire's just disappeared. It was the wing you were housed in before you came back to us."

Peter was still and quiet for a moment. Giving her hand another squeeze, he stood. "Right. Okay, then, you get first crack at the shower, and I'll get Walter up."

She tugged his hand to stop him as he turned to go. "No, Peter, that's not necessary."

"I'm going with you," he said matter-of-factly without turning back to her. "It'll probably take me about twenty minutes to get Walter up and running, then a quick shower for me when you're done. It'll take, what? Two, three hours to get back to Mass, do you think? I think we – "

"Peter," she interrupted.

He finally turned back to face her. "I'm going with you," he said, brooking no argument. There was a darkness in his eyes that Olivia didn't like; it was a darkness that seemed born of guilt.

"Okay." She kissed his hand before releasing it. "Do you want me to talk to Walter, though?"

Peter's face lightened a bit. "No, it's fine. I'll tell him. He won't want to go back in there, but we'll figure something out."

"Do _you_?" she asked, standing.

"Do I what?"

"Will it bother you to go back there?"

Peter sighed and scratched his head. "I don't know. I was Cameron King then. The man without a past. It seems like… well, a different life. But, I honestly don't know." He kissed her quickly on the lips. "Guess we'll find out, though, huh? Now, go take your shower."

-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-

Peter knocked on the door to Walter's room and waited. He was pleasantly surprised when his father agreed to actually sleep in a bedroom, rather than take his usual place on the sofa in the living room. After a moment with no reply, Peter knocked again. "Walter?" He quietly opened the door a crack. "Walter, you asleep? And if not, are you decent?"

As his eyes adjusted to the darkened room, Peter could just make out the form of his father, fully clothed, and seated on the bed, holding something in his hand. "'Morning, Walter, how long have you been up?" Peter asked.

Walter finally looked at Peter, who was astonished to see tears in the older man's eyes. "I'm sorry, son," he said.

Peter turned on a lamp. "You're sorry?" he said as he came to sit next to Walter. "What for?"

Walter handed him the item in his hand, a photo of Walter and Elizabeth holding a baby. "I didn't think. I know, I've told you, and I really do understand… "

Peter gently ran his finger over the faces in the photo. "I know you do, Walter. It's okay. Funny, I was just talking to Olivia about this. And you know what?" He looked at his father's hopeful face. "I understand, too. I kinda like seeing these photos. It shows me that Peter was well-loved. And I'm glad of that. Because I know the kind of love you're capable of, Walter. And it's a pretty powerful thing. So, stop beating yourself up, okay?"

Walter reached up and patted Peter's cheek, letting his hand linger for a moment. "Okay," he said, smiling.

"Good. Now, how long have you been up?"

"Longer than you, it would seem," Walter said, gesturing to Peter's pajama pants and t-shirt.

"Well, at least we have a head start then. Olivia's in the shower. We have a case."

"A case? Oh, no, no," Walter said, shaking his head. "We're on a family vacation!"

"Sorry, Dad, but no rest for the weary," Peter laughed, before turning serious again. "Listen, Walter, this case… it's going to hit a little close to home."

"How so, son?"

"It looks like there's been a new Fringe event. I'm just gonna come out and say it – the Shephard Wing at St. Claire's has disappeared. No trace. Broyles wants us to look into it."

"The… that's the wing… "

"Yeah, I know. But let's not get ahead of ourselves, okay?"

"Peter, I… I don't want to go back there," Walter stammered.

"I know. Not my favorite place, either. But maybe you won't have to go inside. Olivia can talk to whoever she needs to talk to, and you and I can examine the site where the wing vanished. How does that sound?"

"Well… as long as we don't have to go back in there. I don't want you anywhere near that place. They treated you abominably."

"Okay, Walter, I'm sure that'll be fine. Do me a favor and make a pot of coffee while I'm getting ready, please? There are travel mugs in the cabinet. We'll fill up, hit the road, and pick up something along the way."

"Of course," Walter said, following Peter out of the room. "Peter?"

Peter turned. "Yeah?"

"Are you sure you're up to this? You're only just recovering."

Peter patted Walter's shoulder. "I'll be fine, Walter. It's just a trip to Essex County. I'm not running the Boston Marathon. How taxing could it be?"


	7. Chapter 7

7.

Olivia parked the SUV just in front of the yellow police tape and turned off the engine. "Okay, there's Broyles. I'll get the update. Do you two want to start checking around outside? I'll handle anything that's going on inside the hospital."

As they exited the car, Peter answered, "Yeah, that would probably be a good idea. Walter shouldn't have to go in there again. Whaddya say, Walter? You and me – we'll case the joint."

Walter wasn't paying attention; he stared at the imposing edifice of St. Claires. It looked as terrifying to him as the day he was first incarcerated there, even with a third of its mass completely gone. Peter touched his father's sleeve. "Walter," he said again, softly.

Walter turned his head to Peter. "This is an awful place. I want to go home now," he said, his voice almost a whimper.

"Come on, Walter, you can handle this. We made it out of there, both of us. It's just a building. It can't hurt you. The only thing that can hurt you is your reaction to it. Don't let it have that kind of power over you. You're Walter Freaking Bishop, owner and CEO of Massive Dynamic." Peter patted Walter's shoulder firmly. "So, come on, now."

"But… Peter, I'm afraid."

Peter took a deep breath. "Walter, do you remember giving me all those Mark Twain books when I was a kid?"

Walter's eyes grew wide. "Why… yes. I do. You remember that?"

"Yup. I loved those stories. And what did Mark Twain say about courage? Do you remember?"

Walter reached up to touch Peter's hand on his shoulder, and together, they said, "Courage is resistance to fear, mastery of fear, not _absence_ of fear."

Walter squeezed Peter's hand. "Right. Thank you, son. Thank you for reminding me of that."

"Anytime, Walter," Peter smiled. "I think that's the first time I've ever reminded _you_ of something from my childhood."

"Indeed," Walter mused. "Well, come on, then, Peter, don't dawdle!"

As Walter hurried off, Peter looked at Olivia and shrugged. She gave him a quick kiss on the cheek. "What was that for?" he asked.

"Just because. Now go catch up with him before he gets himself into trouble."

Peter bounced a bit on his heels before taking off at a run. "Hey, Walter, wait up! Recovering sick guy, remember? Slow down!"

Olivia laughed as she watched Peter chase after Walter. "He looks well," she heard Broyles say behind her.

"Not all the way there, yet," she said, still smiling as she turned to face him, "But yes, sir, he's getting better, thanks."

"I'm glad to hear it," Philip Broyles said. "He's a good man."

"He is," Olivia agreed. "So, what have we got?"

"Your basic disappearing real estate. The patients and staff in the main building reported hearing a groaning sound, then suddenly, the whole Shephard Wing was gone. The breezeway connecting the two buildings just literally cut off."

"How many patients were in the wing?" Olivia asked, dreading the answer.

"Luckily, the wing was shut down after the incident with Peter in the ECT lab. There's only one person reported missing – Dr. Bruce Sumner."

"Sumner? I'm surprised he was still working here, considering everything that happened," Olivia snorted. "Okay, I'll start taking some statements from the patients. Walter and Peter are checking out the site of the event." She gestured toward the cordoned-off, empty lot.

"Are they ok?"

"Walter's not happy about being here, but Peter's seems all right. He's been talking Walter down."

"Good. Let's go," Broyles said, and ushered Olivia toward the imposing edifice of St. Claire's.

-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-

"Peter, did you bring…"

"The Gauss Meter? Yes, Walter," Peter replied, holding up a palm-sized box. "Right here. I can't believe you had one at the lake house."

"Why not?" Walter replied, looking at Peter with a puzzled expression.

Peter sighed. "Yeah, silly me. Why wouldn't you have a hand-held electromagnetic field meter sitting around next to the fishing tackle and footballs?" He flipped the switch on the meter, nearly dropping it when the needle gauge immediately began to swing wildly, and a high-pitched alarm sounded. "Whoa!"

Walter spun around at the sound. "What did you do?" he snapped. "Here, give me that. I hope you haven't broken it." He took the meter from Peter's hand, and the levels instantly dropped on the gauge. "Hm," he intoned. "Fascinating."

"Thank you, Mr. Spock," Peter sniped, "But I'm telling you, I didn't break it."

"No, no," Walter said absent-mindedly, "Of course you didn't." He walked a few yards, and held the meter toward the ground; the needle began to swing again. "This is extraordinary! The magnetic readings fluctuate wildly from spot to spot. Son, go back to where you were standing when you turned the meter on and look around for anything that might have triggered the reading."

"What am I looking for, exactly?" Peter asked as he started to retrace his steps.

"You'll know when you find it!" Walter said cheerily. "There's so much to find in a debris field!"

"Great," Peter muttered. "Thanks, that helps a lot." He walked slowly around the empty lot, looking for anything unusual, and seeing pretty much nothing but dirt.

As he was literally retracing his steps, his eye was caught by something near a far wall. "What the hell?" he murmured. "Walter, I'll go back to that in a minute," he called, and headed away toward the opposite corner.

"Peter, what is it?" Walter asked, concerned.

"Hang on," Peter replied. He trudged over the rocky terrain strewn with debris, then stopped a few yards short of his destination. "Aw, hell," he sighed, shaking his head at what he saw.

A door in the wall of the adjacent main building of the hospital had sealed itself shut; Peter could just make out the outline of the doorway. But sticking out of that sealed passageway in a grotesque tableau was half a body, seemingly suspended between two worlds. Peter swallowed hard against the bile that rose in his throat at the sight, especially when he looked at the terrified face, eyes still open in death, mouth open in a silent scream of pain and desperation.

Although he knew perfectly well who the dead person was, Peter looked down at the name tag pinned to the pocket of the pristine, white lab coat. "Dr. Sumner," Peter said softly. "Damn."

"Oh, dear, how sad," he heard Walter say behind him. "He must have been trying to get back to the main building."

"No, I don't think so, Walter," Peter said distractedly. "I think he may have been coming in. Wouldn't his lower half be stuck here if he was running away from the incident?"

"That's quite possible, son, yes," Walter agreed. "But, this wing had been shut down since… " Walter shuddered.

Peter put a steadying hand on Walter's shoulder, although he felt none too steady himself as he gazed at the bisected, half-entombed form of the late Bruce Sumner. "Yeah, I know. Weird." Peter took a cleansing breath, and stepped closer to the half-body, cocking his head as he saw something protruding from Sumner's lab coat pocket.

Reaching into his own pocket, he pulled out a pair of surgical gloves and donned them. "What's this?" he said, taking the folded piece of paper out.

Walter peered over Peter's shoulder as he unfolded the paper. "It looks like lab results," he surmised, seeing the list of readings and numbers.

Peter read the top of the paper. "You're right. It's a CBC on a John Doe." The letters in front of Peter's eyes began to swim slightly, and he squeezed them shut, pinching the bridge of his nose.

"Are you all right, Peter?" Walter said, noticing Peter's distress.

"Yeah, I'm okay. Think I'm gonna need glasses soon," he joked. He squinted at the paper. "They're dated… shit."

"What? What's the date?"

"It's dated right around the time I showed up at Reiden Lake. Walter," he said, holding the paper out to his father, "I think these labs are mine."

-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-

"So," Olivia asked as she scribbled in her notebook, "When was the last time you saw Dr. Sumner?"

"In the cafeteria," a teary-eyed nurse replied. "He was sitting by himself having lunch, as he always does, and then I saw him answer his cell phone. He seemed… nervous. He got up, and knocked over his lunch tray."

"When I went over to help him clean up," the equally distraught cafeteria worker continued, "He said not to bother, it didn't matter. I asked him if he wanted me to get him something to go, and he said no. Then he ran out."

Broyles nodded. "That coincides with the reports I've obtained from others, seeing Sumner hurrying away from the cafeteria, and another putting him near the breezeway to the Shephard Wing about half an hour before it disappeared."

"Thank you both," Olivia said to the witnesses. As she walked away with Broyles, she said, "Do you think Sumner went with the building, sir?"

"Possibly, but what I'd like to know is, who was the second doctor?"

"What second doctor?"

"The people who said they saw Sumner near the breezeway before the incident, also say they saw another doctor wheeling a laundry cart away from the area near the breezeway about ten minutes after the incident."

Olivia's eyebrows rose. "And nobody thought to stop him, and ask him what he was doing there?"

Broyles shrugged, "If you'd just seen an entire building wing disappear in front of your eyes, I imagine you'd be pretty distressed."

"Me? Not so much," Olivia commented. "But, yeah, I can see your point." She took out her cell phone. "Let's see if Peter and Walter have found anything yet. Maybe Sumner left something behind. There seems be quite a debris field."

-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-

Peter wandered away from Walter, who was still examining Sumner's remains. When Walter's cell rang, he took it from his pocket. "Hello? This is Doctor Walter Bishop speaking."

"Hi, Walter, it's Olivia. Just checking in. Anything interesting?"

"Oh, Olivia, dear!" Walter exclaimed. "Peter," he called, "It's Olivia! We need to fill her in on Dr. Sumner."

"Dr. Sumner?" Olivia said, looking at Broyles with surprise.

"Oh, yes. Well, part of Dr. Sumner, anyway. He seems to have been caught in the vortex that took the Shephard Wing. Peter! Come back and talk to Olivia!"

"First, it's , 'Peter, go back over there,' then it's, 'Peter, come here,'" he groused half-heartedly. Waving to his father, he yelled, "Okay, I'm coming."

"We found a piece of paper in Dr. Sumner's pocket, Olivia," Walter said quietly. "Peter believes it may be a set of lab results from when he was first brought to St. Claire's from Reiden Lake."

"What?" Olivia said nervously. "How could that be? Why would Sumner have that on him?"

"I don't know, dear," Walter replied, "But between you and me, Peter seems rather distressed by it. And that can't be good for him. I think we should go home soon. He's looking pale, and is having some trouble focusing."

Olivia turned to Broyles. "Walter says Peter's not feeling well."

"All right," Broyles agreed. "I can take whatever evidence they've gathered, and bring it to the lab, while you and Walter take care of Peter."

"Thank you sir. Walter," she said, returning to her conversation, "You and Peter stay there. I'm coming out now, and we'll bag up your evidence, and Dr. Sumner," she added, wincing at the thought, "And we'll head back, okay?"

"That's good, dear. Thank you. He looks very tired." Walter turned to meet Peter halfway, when he realized that the large piece of furniture he'd been resting his equipment on wasn't a desk. "Oh, my. How awful," he said aloud.

"What's awful?" Peter called. As he headed back over to Walter, something in the dirt caught his eye. A plastic strip about an inch wide lay on the ground; Peter crouched down and picked it up. It was a hospital ID bracelet that appeared to have been torn off the wearer's wrist. Brushing dirt off the band, Peter read the name:

PATIENT NUMBER: 061178

NAME: KING, CAMERON

DOB: N/A

NEXT OF KIN: N/A

ATTENDING: SUMNER, BRUCE, MD

"Oh, God, no," Peter murmured.

"Peter? Son, did you find something?" Walter called.

Peter quickly pocketed the bracelet. "No, nothing."

"Well, come here, then," Walter said, waving him on.

Peter walked back to Walter, his hand still clutching the bracelet in his pocket. "Whatcha got?"

Walter stepped aside to reveal the shattered remains of a piano. "It must have somehow been thrown clear when the building shifted."

Peter stared at the destroyed instrument sadly, then bent down to pick up a sheet of music that lay in the ruins.

"_Kinderszenen_," Walter said softly as Peter looked at the crumpled sheet. "You played it beautifully."

"_If your head's going to come in, the rest of you might as well join it..."_

The memory of "Cameron King's" first encounter with Walter flooded Peter's mind. He had instantly felt a connection to the timid old man who stuck his head into the music room. He had no idea at the time that this shuffling gentleman was really his father.

"It's not yours. _He's_ not yours," a tiny voice said behind him. Peter turned around suddenly, feeling dizzy.

A little boy with brown hair, round cheeks and hollow, red-rimmed blue eyes stared at him accusingly. "He's not yours, you stole him," the boy repeated angrily. "You took him from my grave."

"Peter?" Peter whispered.

"He's MINE!" the apparition screamed at him. Alarmed, Peter staggered back into Walter's grasp.

"Peter!" Walter exclaimed, gripping Peter's arms. "Son, what's wrong?"

Peter swayed a bit in Walter's grip, then righted himself, and wiped away the beads of sweat that had formed on his brow. "I… it… it was nothing. Sorry, I'm okay," he stammered.

Walter reached up and gently pulled Peter's face closer to him. Touching his lips to Peter's forehead, and placing his palm on the top of his head, Walter then released him. "You feel warm," he said, his voice tight. "You've pushed yourself too hard, too soon."

"I'm okay, Walter," Peter said, although he felt anything but. He'd been feeling a bit queasy since they had reached St. Claire's, but chalked it up to nerves.

"You are most certainly not okay. You're still recovering from a serious illness, and you're pushing yourself too hard. I'm going to take you back to the car, and we're going to tell Olivia and Agent Broyles that we're leaving right now." He looked over Peter's shoulder. "Perfect timing," he said, seeing Olivia and Broyles approaching. "Olivia, Peter really isn't well," he said.

"What?" Olivia's face paled. "What's wrong?"

"I'm fine," Peter said. "Maybe I overdid it a little, but I'm fine, hon, really."

"Agent Dunham, we've taken all the statements we can for now, and we can't examine the breezeway until the structural engineers give us the all-clear. We're done here for now," Broyles said. "I've taken the liberty of booking us rooms in a hotel nearby for the night. I figured a long drive back would be a little too much for Peter. We can start fresh in the morning, if you're up to it," he added, looking to Peter.

"I'll be up to it. Thanks." He took a couple of steps, and stumbled as his legs gave out a bit. Broyles rushed over to steady him. "Well, this is embarrassing," he said woozily.

Olivia reached up and touched Peter's face. "Oh, yeah, you're way too warm. Come on. Lean on me." She draped Peter's arm around her shoulder and started to lead him to the car.

"Don't I always?" he said softly.

"And you always can," she replied.

Peter looked back over his shoulder as they walked to the car, and saw the apparition standing in the rubble, still glaring at him, and pointing an accusatory finger, only now he had been joined by the Future Olivia he had seen during his treatment. Her arms wrapped around the angry child as she nodded her agreement.

"Hey," Olivia said, nudging him, "Eyes front. Are you all right?"

"I don't know," Peter said, confused. "I don't know at all."


	8. Chapter 8

8.

"A suite? Really? This _can't_ have been Broyles' doing," Peter said in amazement as he, Olivia and Walter entered the spacious hotel room.

"Well," Walter said sheepishly, "I did call Kevin after Agent Broyles told us where we were to be staying. He made a call to the front desk, and… "

Peter turned to his father, astonished. "Walter Bishop," he said, "Did you trade on being the owner of Massive Dynamic?" He laughed. "You fat cat, you."

Walter grinned. "Rank does have its privileges, sometimes." He rubbed Peter's arm. "Now, let's get you inside. I'll go get some ice and beverages. I do so hope they have orange soda… I could really go for an orange soda right now…"

As Walter wandered off, Olivia took Peter's hand. "He's adjusted to life as a corporate bigwig much better than I thought he would," she mused.

"He's just in it for the toys," Peter commented.

"So," Olivia said, guiding him through the living room area to the door to one of the two bedrooms, "Wanna try out the bed?"

"Why, Agent Dunham," Peter said, drawing her into his arms, "I thought you'd never ask."

He leaned down to kiss her, and she pulled away, smiling teasingly. "To _rest_, Bishop. You look like death warmed over right now. " She put the duffel bag she had been carrying down on a table near the bedroom door, and rifled through its contents while Peter took off his coat.

Peter rolled his eyes when he saw Olivia approach him with the thermometer. "Oh, for crying out loud, Olivia," he groaned. "I'm just tired. Get away from me with that thing, will ya?"

"Sorry," she said in a tone that implied she was anything but. "A woman's gotta do what a woman's gotta do." She placed the scanner gently into Peter's ear, while giving him a quick kiss on the lips.

"Nice try," he pouted. "I'm still annoyed."

Olivia frowned as she read the results. "And you're still running a fever. A hundred."

"Like I said," he replied, "I'm tired. I pushed myself a little too hard today. I'll be fine in the morning." He ran a hand lazily through his hair and yawned. "I'm gonna take a quick shower, and then I promise I'll follow Dr. Dunham's orders and take a nap, okay?"

She kissed him again. "Okay. I'm sorry, Peter. I know how old this must be getting. But I can't help it – I worry about you." She gently skimmed the backs of her fingers over his stubbled cheek. "I love you."

"Yeah, yeah," he said, mock-dismissively, while drawing her into his arms and kissing the top of her head. "I love you too," he whispered into her hair as he hugged her tighter. "God, you don't _know_ how much."

Peter took his change of clothes from the duffel bag and headed to the bathroom while Olivia took off her own coat and picked up Peter's to put them in the closet. As she grabbed Peter's dark, heavy peacoat, she saw something fall from the left pocket. Bending down, she picked up the hospital bracelet from St. Claire's and read Peter's – or Cameron King's – name on it aloud.

Peter emerged from the bathroom clad in sweatpants and a gray long-sleeved tee, his hair still slightly damp. "Ya know, I think that shower did me a world of good. It cleared my - "

Olivia walked over to him and held out the bracelet. "Where did you find this?" she asked softly.

"In the debris field at St. Claire's," he answered honestly.

"It's evidence, Peter. Why is it in your pocket?" Her voice took on a slightly harsh edge.

"Why? Because it was mine," he said simply, and started walking past her.

She grabbed his arm and spun him to face her. "No, you do not get to do that," she barked.

"What? What am I doing?"

"Shutting me out. Not allowed. Why did you take this? Weren't you going to tell me you found it?" Her voice rose. "What else aren't you telling me? I thought we were past your lies, Peter."

Peter's eyes grew dark; Olivia could see the telltale muscle in his jaw clench and unclench in an attempt to rein in his emotions. She knew he wanted to say something biting; she even knew what he probably would say. Olivia was no stranger to lies herself, and knew she couldn't stake the moral high ground for very long.

In a tight, all-too-in-control voice, Peter slowly replied, "I'm sorry I wasn't forthcoming with the evidence. I was going to tell you as soon as I could get my head around the fact that the only debris we found, besides half of Dr. Sumner, were items directed related to Cameron King. _Me_. I hope I didn't compromise your investigation." Suddenly sounding exhausted, he added, "I'm really tired. Can we talk about this later, please?" Without waiting for a reply, Peter walked past Olivia into the bedroom. She didn't follow him as he closed the door.

Walter chose that moment to return, his arms full of ice buckets; bottles and cans of soda teetered precariously atop the cubes in the buckets. "This place is marvelous, Olivia! You can get as much ice as you want, and they have every soda imaginable. I got orange for me, cola for Peter, and I got you lemon-lime. I know you like lemon-lime."

Olivia pinched the bridge of her nose. "That's nice, Walter," she said half-heartedly.

"What's wrong, dear?" Walter asked, putting the buckets down gingerly. "Is Peter all right? Where is he?"

"Yeah, he's okay. Just went inside to lie down for a while." She sighed, and held the bracelet out to Walter. "Did you know he found this?"

Walter took the bracelet from her. "Oh, my… no. No, I didn't know he'd found anything like this. We found the remains of the piano he used to play as well." Walter held the bracelet in his hand as though it were made of crystal.

"I think he may have been hallucinating at the site, Walter," Olivia said candidly.

"Really? I know he seemed unfocused. A little skittish, even. But hallucinating?"

"You saw him when we were walking back to the car. He kept looking back. And the look on his face… he was scared." Olivia shook her head. "I should've asked him about _that_, asked him what was wrong. But no, I jump all over him for not telling me he found that stupid bracelet."

"Olivia, Peter understands. He knows it's difficult for you to trust completely. But you trust him. He knows that."

"He was really hurt, Walter. I could see it in his eyes. Hurt, and angry. I mean, what the hell is wrong with me? It probably freaked _him_ out to see that bracelet, and all I could see was some sort of betrayal because he didn't tell me about it within a reasonable time frame for _me_." She growled and gently bumped her fists against her forehead. "I need to talk to him."

"Maybe he's not asleep yet," Walter agreed. Maybe – "

Walter was interrupted by a loud _thump_ coming from the bedroom. "Peter?" he called, nearly paralyzed with fear.

Olivia quickly opened the door to the bedroom; the bed was empty, the covers thrown practically to the floor. She saw a light in the adjoining bathroom, and rushed over to the door. "Peter? Are you all right? Open the door, Peter."

"Break it down!" Walter cried, holding a shaking hand to his mouth.

"It's not locked," she said, and turned the knob. "Oh, God. Peter!" she said, seeing Peter curled in a fetal position on the floor, eyes closed, his arms wrapped around his stomach and his face nearly gray.

Olivia knelt down next to him and checked his pulse. "It's thready, but there. Jesus, Walter, he's freezing." She pulled him into her lap. "Peter? Peter, it's Olivia. Come on, baby, wake up for me, huh?"

Walter looked at the toilet, which Peter had collapsed next to. "Blood," he said.

"What?" Olivia snapped, her focus solely on trying to wake the unresponsive Peter.

"There's blood in the toilet," Walter explained. "His kidneys are malfunctioning. He's going into shock – that's why he's so cold."

Walter pulled his cell phone from his jacket pocket, and dialed. "Hello, Kevin. This is Doctor Walter Bishop. My son has taken ill, and we'll need an immediate med-evac back to Massive Dynamic. Yes. I believe there's a small field that a helicopter might be able to land in. Yes, thank you. Thank you, Kevin. I'm sure he'll be fine."

Olivia marveled at how crisply efficient, and in control, Walter was at that moment. He actually seemed like a man who could competently run one of the largest corporations in the world.

He reminded her a bit of Walternate. Shuddering, she put that thought out of her mind immediately as she noticed Peter begin to stir. "Peter? Hey, you, come on. Wake up, okay?"

Walter crouched down next to them. "Come on, son. Open your eyes. I know it hurts, but it's going to be all right now."

Peter's eyes slowly opened, but remained unfocused. He strained to look at Olivia, but as she swam in his view, he thought he could see the bullet hole between her brows, and he looked away.

"Come on, Peter," Olivia pleaded.

"Yeah, come _on_, Peter," FutureOlivia droned right behind her. "Why won't you just _die_, already?"

He groaned, and went limp in Olivia's arms. "Peter!"

-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-

Olivia found herself alone in the Massive Dynamic Medical Waiting area following the harrowing helicopter ride there. Walter had told her to wait outside for a few moments as he got Peter settled and examined; she feared he was keeping her out so he could say a private goodbye to his son.

Fifteen minutes after they'd arrived, Walter emerged from the infirmary, looking grave. "Walter, please tell me he's all right. Please," Olivia pleaded.

Walter closed his eyes briefly and evened out his breathing. "He's alive, dear," he finally said. "It's renal failure. We have him on dialysis right now, and are transfusing him as well."

"Kidney failure? How?"

"I thought at first that it might be the result of the treatment, but we ran bloodwork, and it seems… " Walter sighed. "I just don't understand it. It's as though his disease, just as it was being beaten by the treatment… mutated."

"Mutated?" Olivia repeated, shocked. "Can it do that?"

"It would seem so," Walter replied. "It seems to have latched onto one strand of Peter's DNA and mutated on that strand separate and apart from the rest of the disease. It's quite extraordinary, really. Normally, this is something that would only be possible in a sterile, laboratory setting. And there are only two or three biotech companies capable of that sort of feat – Massive Dynamic being one, of course." He guided them both to chairs and sat down. "But this happened all on its own, right inside Peter. And so quickly – it's barely been a week since the treatment. I'm going to have to do a number of tests… possibly a spinal tap to extract marrow… I'll have to fine-tune the treatment again to catch up with the mutation."

"I know you can, Walter," Olivia said, feeling only half as confident as she sounded as Walter patted her hand. "Was he conscious at all?"

"He woke briefly, but he didn't seem aware of where he was," Walter replied sadly. He looked at Olivia, who was hugging herself as though trying to keep from flying apart. "Olivia, I know what you're thinking. You mustn't blame yourself."

"For the illness? Of course not," she scoffed. "But for getting so angry with him? For having our last conversation before this happened be one full of accusations? Oh, yeah, Walter, I can blame myself for that." She stood up and started to pace. "Why was I so angry? I know he would've handed over that bracelet to me. He's never given me any reason not to trust him. Even when… even when he was with _her_, it wasn't a _deliberate_ betrayal of trust. He was almost as much a victim as I was." Olivia stopped pacing when Walter stood and grasped her arms. "God, Walter, what is wrong with me? Am I completely incapable of being happy?"

To her surprise, Walter took her in his arms, patting her hair as she let the tears fall. "No, my dear, not at all. You're an extraordinary girl, and my son loves you so very much." He drew back and, pulling a handkerchief from his pocket, dried her tears. "And while you're right that that woman victimized you both, Peter _did_ lie to you about his dealings with the shapeshifters. We both did."

"But… "

"No," Walter said firmly. "He lied. He was frightened, and angry, and desperate, and he lied. He fell back on an old habit. A bad one." At Olivia's surprised look, Walter continued. "It's very easy, in extreme circumstances, to… _idealize_ someone. Make them someone they're not. Peter is a wonderful young man. An extraordinary young man. But he's also flawed. You love him because of who he is, and sometimes despite what he does."

"I can understand why he didn't tell us about the shapeshifters. He must've felt so alone," Olivia offered.

"Yes, he did. And you forgave him, _because_ you understand. That's what real love is – understanding every part of a person. " Walter's eyes softened. "I mean, just look at me! The things I have done to Peter… to you… would seem unforgivable. To me, they still _are_ unforgivable. Yet, here we are. I have a son – a beautiful, brave, forgiving son – who loves me, despite it all. That, my dear," he said, "Is what we must remember. We make mistakes, and we are forgiven."

"When did you get so wise, Walter?"

"Ah, with madness comes a very special kind of wisdom," he grinned. "Olivia, you've both had so much sadness and betrayal in your lives. Having someone you can trust takes a little getting used to. You'll both get the hang of it," he smiled.

"I hope we have time to," she replied.

"We will," Walter said firmly, although his voice wavered. "Now, come on, I'll take you to him."

Walter led Olivia into the infirmary, and over to Peter's bed. A dialysis machine hummed in the background next to where he lay, unconscious. "Oh, Peter," Olivia sighed, brushing his cheek with her fingers. To her surprise, Peter leaned into her touch. "Peter? Walter, he's waking up."

"I had a feeling you could bring him around," Walter smiled. "Peter? Son, it's your father, Walter Bishop. Olivia's here, and Astrid's on her way as well."

Peter's eyes opened. "Hey," he said, his voice hoarse. He looked up at the stark white ceiling of the infirmary. "What the hell?"

"You're back at Massive Dynamic, son," Walter explained. "You collapsed at the hotel. Do you remember?"

Peter nodded. "My back hurt," he said thickly. "And when I… it hurt worse. Tried to call… I think I fell."

"You most certainly did. Ass over teakettle. Gave us quite a scare!" Walter said enthusiastically.

"I'm sorry," Peter replied. Looking over at Olivia, he repeated. "I'm sorry."

She knew exactly what he meant, and said immediately, "Don't you dare apologize. I jumped down your throat, and I'm the one who's sorry. I'm just so glad you're back with us, so I could say so. God, if you'd… "

"I didn't," Peter said groggily, reaching for her hand. "I won't." He looked back to Walter. "Will I, Dad?"

"Of course not, son," Walter said comfortingly. "You just sleep now, and I'll explain the situation later, all right?"

"Yeah. Sounds good," Peter said, and drifted off to sleep.

-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-

As the young man in the lab coat checked one last time that the electronic door behind him was locked, he clicked his mouse on the final command on the computer screen blinking in front of him: INCINERATOR ONE: EXECUTE.

The incinerator – a large, automated crematorium that not many people in the building even knew existed – erupted in flame, engulfing the wrapped body that had been placed there just moments before.

"_Remember_, O man, that _dust thou art_, and to _dust_ thou shalt return," the man next to him said in his clipped British accent.

"Oh, please," he said, rolling his eyes.

"All right then, how about, 'Earth to earth, _ashes to ashes_, dust to dust… in sure and certain hope of the Resurrection into eternal life'?"

"Would you just shut up already, Newton?" Brandon Fayette snapped. "That thing was no more a person than a petri dish is."

"I daresay the Secretary would disagree with that assessment, Dr. Fayette," Thomas Jerome Newton droned. "This was not part of the assignment, you know."

"In a roundabout way, yes it was," Brandon defended himself.

"Well, you go ahead and tell yourself that," Newton said, realizing there was no use arguing the point. "But it's not going to be pretty when the Secretary finds out."

Brandon turned to Newton. "What, you're going to rat me out? That's not a very good idea, Thomas, considering you're the one who botched the whole infiltration in the first place. I'm here trying to clean up your mess."

Newton snickered. "One assignment had nothing to do with the other, and you bloody well know it. My assignment's failure was… unfortunate. But yours? It should have been done ages ago. Infiltrate, neutralize. I still don't know how you've been holding the Secretary off."

"Bureaucracy on this side, mostly," he replied. "But never you mind that." He heard a beep, and smiled. "All done."

Brandon Fayette powered down the incinerator, then clicked on a new window on his computer screen. Pulling up a list, he scrolled down and clicked on his selection. Newton looked over his shoulder and read the screen:

PETER 12 - CHOOSE OPTION: EDIT FILE?

Brandon clicked on "YES," and watched a new screen come up:

STATUS UPDATE. PETER 12 ACTIVATED & REVISED. DEACTIVATE & DELETE?

Again, Brandon clicked on, "YES."

He watched as a series of green lights flickered across the screen, finally replaced by a blinking red message:

PETER 12. DELETED.

"Excellent," he said victoriously as his cell phone rang. Pulling it from his pocket, he answered, "Hello?"

"Dr. Fayette? Kevin Sanchez. Doctor Bishop called. They've brought his son back via Med-Evac. He's taken sick again. Doctor Bishop wants you on hand and ready to help with a revision of his treatment, please. They're in Medical Bay Five already."

Brandon looked at Newton with a grin. "I'll be right there, Sanchez. Thank you." Hanging up, he said, "Peter Bishop has taken a turn for the worse, it seems."

"And that just breaks your heart, I can tell," Newton said sarcastically.

"Just tears me up inside," Brandon smirked. "But you know how those experimental treatments can go."

"Not expected to make it?"

"I don't know," Brandon replied, typing on his keyboard again. "But just in case… " He pulled up a menu.

SELECT ONE:

PETER 7

PETER 9

PETER 10

Brandon read each file, then scrolled back up to the "PETER 10" option and clicked on it.

PETER 10. STATUS: INACTIVE. ACTIVATE?

Brandon clicked on "YES."

PETER 10. ACTIVATE. INDICATE LEVEL OF ACTIVATION: LIVE DORMANT/LIVE SENTIENT

He clicked on "LIVE/DORMANT" and hit ENTER.

PETER 10. LIVE/DORMANT. ACTIVATING…


	9. Chapter 9

9.

Peter Bishop awoke to a now-familiar sound coming from down the hall. He groaned briefly, rolling over and sitting up, but smiled as he did. Looking back over his shoulder at the woman lying beside him, still sound asleep, he sarcastically whispered, "No, no, don't get up. It's okay, I got this," got up, and padded down the hall.

He could see the light still on under the door to Walter's room; his father had a habit of falling asleep with it on, rather than be disturbed by the shadows he would see in the dark. Peter walked quietly past, but stopped when he heard Walter's soft voice. "Peter, is everything all right?"

"Yeah, Walter," he whispered. "Go back to sleep, it's fine."

Rubbing the sleep from his eyes, Peter reached his destination and opened the door. The sound of infant distress filled the room. "Okay, what's all the commotion, you?" he said, smiling as he reached into the crib and lifted his 7-month-old daughter out.

The baby immediately stopped crying, and smiled happily as she was lifted to eye level in her father's arms. Reaching out two chubby hands, she smacked Peter's cheeks. "DaDaDaDaDa… " she burbled cheerfully.

"Yeah, that'd be me, sweetheart," he laughed as he settled her against his shoulder. "Listen, I'm not supposed to pick you up just because you want me to, ya know," he said in mock consternation. "Your mom says we have to let you cry yourself out, whatever the he – whatever that means." He walked slowly around the room as the baby continued to babble her favorite sounds. "Yeah, I hear ya. Gets kinda boring when you're the only one awake. You wanted some company. Just don't tell your mom, and I'm good with it."

The baby wiggled in his arms, still patting and smacking him, blowing bubbles, and babbling. "And… now you're getting hyper," he sighed. He placed a hand on her bottom. "You don't need changing, and this isn't your, 'Hey somebody feed me,' routine, so what's up, sunshine?" He gently rubbed a knuckle against the baby's cheek and gazed into her large gray-blue eyes.

The day Olivia went into labor, Peter found himself praying. He couldn't remember the last time he'd done that – maybe that time in Naples, when he realized his marks were on to him – but the minute Olivia calmly told him her water had broken, he suddenly remembered the entire rosary.

Olivia was in labor for nineteen hours, and at precisely 6:02am, Peter helped deliver their beautiful 7-pound, 13-ounce baby girl. "Any idea of a name?" the midwife asked.

"Of course," Olivia replied, as though Olivia Dunham would _ever_ dream of not having everything perfectly organized. She looked over at Peter. "Her name is Eliza Marilyn Bishop..."

Peter blinked away tears as he brought himself back to the present, and the bouncing, babbling bundle in his arms. He tenderly swept his hand over the blond fuzz on her head; she really was a perfect combination of him and Olivia. "Okay, I think I know what you want, and the answer is no," he said sternly, triggering a fit of giggles from Eliza when he gently poked her stomach. "Oh, no you don't. No amount of giggling and flirting is going to change my mind, missy. I know Mommy sings to you, but Daddy can't carry a tune in a suitcase, got it?"

"DaDaDaDaDaDa… " Eliza burbled, her hands on Peter's lips.

He kissed her palms. "Uh-uh, kiddo, sorry. Not unless you want nightmares for the rest of your life."

_PleaseDon'tDreamTonightPleaseDon'tDreamTonight…_

Peter sighed. There would be no nightmares for his child – her parents had had more than enough for all three of them. "So, let's negotiate, huh?" He walked to the window with the baby and looked out into the moonlit night. "Daddy can't sing a lick, but your grandma Elizabeth used to read me poems sometimes when I was little. They're kind of like songs, only without the singing," he said in a soft voice to the baby, who had begun to calm a bit. "Ah, you like that idea. Excellent."

He rocked the baby in his arms as she settled against his chest, her ear just over his heart, and began:

"I will arise and go now, and go to Innisfree,  
>And a small cabin build there, of clay and wattles made… "<p>

His voice trailed off for a moment as he looked at his and Eliza's reflections in the window. _How far we've come, Little One_, he thought to himself. It had been a scant four years since Olivia had saved him; of course he hadn't seen it as such at the time. How did an angry, solitary con man become this picture of domesticity? Love, he figured. Just love, pure and simple. Okay, maybe not so pure, and definitely not simple… but, as his mother would say, sure it's love all the same.

He kissed the baby's temple as she giggled happily. "Where were we? Ah, right."

"Nine bean-rows will I have there, a hive for the honey-bee,  
>And live alone in the bee-loud glade.<br>And I shall have some peace there, for peace comes dropping slow… "

"Peace?" Peter turned to see Olivia's shadow in the doorway.

"Oh, hey, hon, sorry we woke you. Madam here and I have negotiated a non-singing truce," he said jovially.

"So you're reciting poetry about peace?" Olivia asked, stepping into the room.

"Well, yeah. I thought about "The Charge of the Light Brigade," but figured it might be a bit much," he replied sardonically.

Olivia took another step toward him, and he found himself stepping back. The moonlight lit her face, and that's when he saw the ragged bullet hole between her eyes. "What do you know about peace?" she laughed.

Holding Eliza closer to him, he said, "No, you're not Olivia. Olivia!" he called out, hoping to wake his sleeping wife down the hall.

"No," Future Olivia sneered, quickly grabbing the baby from his arms before he had a chance to fight back. "You don't get to have this."

Peter reached out to her. "Please, give me my child," he pleaded. "Don't take my baby."

"You don't deserve this," Future Olivia said coldly. "You killed us. Any chance of us. You are Death. Destroyer of worlds," she droned. Holding the baby toward him, she laughed as Eliza Marilyn Bishop turned to ash her hands, the ashes fluttering to the floor. "You think you can fix this? Then do the math."

"No!" Peter gasped as he started awake, his arms still outstretched.

"Peter?" Olivia asked as she rushed into the infirmary and turned up the lights. "Peter, what's wrong?" she said as she reached out to touch his face.

Peter shrank from her. "Give her back," he said, his voice small and rough with tears.

"Peter, it's me. It's Olivia," she said soothingly. "You were having a bad dream. It's okay."

Still, he shied away. "I… you're not… you... " Confused, he looked around, and let out the breath he'd been holding. "A nightmare."

Olivia sat at the edge of the infirmary bed. "Yes, a nightmare. And a doozy, from the looks of it. But it's okay now." Olivia tentatively reached her hand out again, and this time Peter didn't shrink back. "There you go," she said softly, rubbing her thumb across his knuckles. "Do you want to talk about it?"

He shook his head, relaxing back against the pillows a bit. "No, I'm all right now." He noticed a folder under her arm. "Whatcha got there?" he asked, trying to change the subject.

"Well, I know how stir-crazy you're going while Walter and Brandon are re-synthesizing a treatment," she began.

"That's an understatement," he groaned. "Three days, Olivia. I feel okay, and I want outta here."

"Yeah, that's a great idea. We let you go home, and you keel over again God knows where. No. You're staying right here, until Walter figures this thing out. Believe me, I miss you at home. I miss having your arms around me at night." She kissed his hand, feeling it tense slightly. "But we have to get you better." She handed him the folder. "But that doesn't mean you get time off, Bishop. This is an analysis of the evidence we found at the event scene, as well as a USGS study of seismic and electromagnetic activity before and after the event."

Peter opened the folder and quickly pulled out the survey. "Do you have a pen and paper?" he asked.

"Um… I have a pen," she replied, reaching into her pocket. Peter practically grabbed it from her hand. "Peter, what's up?"

"Do the math," he mumbled, flipping the folder over and starting to write on the back. "She said do the math."

"Who said what?" Olivia asked, confused and disturbed by his behavior. "Peter, what was that dream about?" She put her hand over his, but he pulled it away. "Peter."

"What?" he snapped. "I'm fine. It was nothing." He never looked at her as he spoke, just kept writing.

"It's not nothing," she snapped back. "You're pulling away from me like… like you're afraid of me or something." She tried to calm herself; getting upset wasn't going to help Peter, or get through to him, either. "Please, tell me what your dream was about just now. Did it have something to do with the hallucinations you were having at the event scene?

"Event scene," he snorted derisively. "You mean at _St. Claire's_? It has a _name_, Olivia. Or, it had," he added sadly. "Why do you have to be so damn clinical?"

"You're dodging the subject, Bishop. Answer my question."

He finally looked at her. "What was it again?" he asked nonchalantly.

Gritting her teeth, she repeated, "Did your dream have something to do with what you were seeing at St. Claire's? Please, Peter. Talk to me."

Peter sighed, and seemed almost ready to talk to her, when her cell phone rang. "You'd better get that," he said flatly.

She looked at the phone. Broyles. Shaking her head, she said, "We're not done talking, Peter."

"We are for now," he said, continuing his scribbling.

Olivia bent down and kissed him on the top of his head; again, she felt him tense up. "I love you," she said softly, before turning and leaving.

As the door closed behind her, Peter looked up. "I'm sorry," he whispered sadly, then went about his work again.

-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-

"Walter," Nina said, rushing into the lab at Massive Dynamic, "How is Peter feeling? Any luck with the mutation?"

"None at all," Walter replied dejectedly. "I can't understand it, Nina. How could this happen? It shouldn't have happened."

Nina noticed Walter's fingers were trembling, the same way they did when he was first released from St. Claire's. She reached over ad took the trembling hand in hers. "Walter, you need to be strong now, all right? Peter needs you at your very best. So, why don't you go home and get some sleep?"

Walter stared down at their entwined hands. "Do you remember when Elizabeth and I were trying to get pregnant? She was so… despondent. Every doctor we went to… they all said the same thing - 'We're sorry, Mrs. Bishop, but it's just not going to be possible for you… We're sorry, Dr. Bishop, but infertility simply can't be fixed.' But then… " His gaze moved to Nina's face. "You and Bellie… you helped us make a miracle – you gave us Peter."

Nina smiled. "We didn't _give_ you anything, Walter. You and Elizabeth fought long and hard for that boy. Those fertility treatments weren't a walk in the park for her."

Walter nodded in agreement. "Oh, I know. She was so brave, even when she…" He swallowed the lump that had formed in his throat. "When the first two treatments didn't work out." He seemed lost in a memory for a moment, and continued, "When she lost the third baby, I didn't know if she'd make it through. But whatever adjustment you and Bellie made, Nina… it was a miracle. Our miracle. When everyone else said it couldn't be done, you did it."

Nina gently withdrew her hand, suddenly uncomfortable. "Well, you know the word, 'can't' was never in William's vocabulary, Walter. We didn't do anything that wasn't being done in labs all over the world. We just didn't do the PR," she smiled.

Walter grinned. "I wanted to shout from the rooftops - Louise Joy Brown wasn't the first IVF birth. My boy was. My beautiful boy…" His smile faded. "But what if something went wrong during the process, Nina? Do you think some kind of anomaly may have occurred during Bellie's enhancements to the genetic material?"

"Unlikely," she said firmly. "But, I'll take a look through the files."

"I can do that," Walter said. "I don't want to take you away from your other work."

"No, don't be silly, Walter. I don't think it's any secret that I've always felt a special bond with Peter. Sometimes I feel a little bit like he's mine, too. We all worked so hard to make his birth possible."

Walter took her hand again. "Indeed you did. I don't know if Elizabeth ever told you how grateful she was. I'm sorry if she didn't. She became so… protective of him, like she was afraid he'd disappear. I suppose," he said, shaking his head sadly, "Those fears were not unfounded."

"Now, Walter, none of that," Nina chided gently. "You keep working on the mutation, and I'll go right now and look through those files, all right?"

"Yes, thank you, Nina. Thank you so much." He squeezed her hand.

Nina leaned in and kissed Walter on the cheek. "I love him, too, Walter. We're going to save your son. I promise." With that, Nina turned and left Walter to his tests.

-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-

Nina swiped her ID and pushed the elevator button marked, "Restricted." A screen on the wall of the car came to life, and a robotic voice said, "Access restricted. Password."

Nina closed her eyes and sighed. "Peter Zero," she said clearly.

"Access granted." The elevator began moving downward to a sub-basement six floors below the lobby. A bell sounded, and the elevator doors opened. "Welcome back, Ms. Sharp," the automated voice intoned.

She stood in the stark white hallway and took a step forward, then stopped, hearing a sound coming from the other end of the hall. There should be no one there but her, she thought; there probably hadn't been anyone in this part of the building in twenty years at least. She had forgotten how forbidding this place was, despite the amazing things that had been accomplished. So much life here… but how much death as well?

She heard a soft beep, and the doors at the other end of the hall slid open. She ducked into a side hallway to remain hidden, peeking around the corner to catch a glimpse of whoever might be there with her. The white-coated man leaving the facility was instantly recognizable to her - Brandon Fayette hurried down the hall, striding past the hidden Nina without noticing.

Nina held her breath as Fayette entered the elevator, releasing it as soon as the doors had closed. No one else knew about this level at Massive Dynamic; had Walter found out about it, and told Brandon? Impossible, Nina thought; if Walter had found out about Sublevel 6, he would have confronted her about it. She and William Bell never told Walter about it; there was no need. He and Elizabeth had their child, they didn't need to know about what had happened after the IVF had taken place.

So, how did Brandon know about it? And what was he doing here? She rushed down the hall to the doors Brandon had exited, again swiping her ID and keying in a four-digit code. The doors swept open again, and she stepped inside, the lights coming on automatically.

Standing still in the brightly-lit room, she spoke. "Initiate Peter Project. Level 1, engage."

A screen at the far end of the room flickered, and an all-too-familiar face appeared. "Nina, my dear," William Bell's visage intoned.

She looked at Bell's face; it was the face of a younger William Bell, sporting 1970's hair and sideburns. Oh, the times they had back then; everything was possible, and nothing could stop them. Bell spoke again. "I'm assuming that something vitally important has happened to cause you to access this project again - especially when I know how deeply you felt about its moral implications. But I always knew you'd come around, Nina. You're a visionary, like me. Like Walter was, before he was domesticated. One last layer of security, and it's all yours - our boys are all yours. Final password?"

A tear streaked down Nina's face. "There is no God but science," she said flatly.

The automated voice said, "Access granted."

Bell's image smiled. "Good luck, my sweet Nina. I hope you know what you're doing. You always called this Pandora's box. Well, congratulations. You've just opened it."


	10. Chapter 10

**_Author's Note_: This might be the last chapter for a couple of weeks - I'll be out of town, and probably won't have access to a computer. But I'll be back as soon as I can with more Matters of Great Import! Thanks, everybody - especially you, Dix!**

10.

_June, 1982 – New York, NY_

Rolling over onto her back, Nina Sharp reveled in the feel of 1,000 thread count bedsheets as she reached over to the nightstand to grab her pack of cigarettes. She smirked as she heard the low rumbling chuckle next to her. "I know, it's terribly cliché," she said silkily, "But I really do need a cigarette after any… strenuous activity."

"Well, I hope it wasn't too much of a strain," William Bell replied, a hint of sarcasm in his voice.

"Oh, I think I'll live," Nina said. "Someday, William," she continued, smoothing back her red hair, "You must tell me where you learned to do that. I'm surprised I still have a voice after last night."

Bell reached traced a delicate path down her spine, eliciting a purr from deep in Nina's throat when he reached the small of her back. "Hmmm," he grinned seductively. "Much as I love to hear you scream, Nina, I like _that_ sound, too. If you must know, I studied tantra in Bombay during a summer abroad. It was very inspiring."

"It certainly was," Nina agreed.

"I tried once to teach Walter and Elizabeth some of the techniques. I'd heard that it helped with fertility, but…" William shrugged and took a cigarette from the pack Nina held out to him. As they both lit up, he added, "But, all's well that ends well."

"Indeed," Nina said as she wrapped a sheet around her and left the warmth of the bed.

"Where are you going?" William demanded. "The morning is still young, and my first meeting isn't until noon."

She was only gone for a few minutes, and reappeared, having shed the sheet, holding a bottle of champagne and two Baccarat crystal flutes. "Ah," he said with sudden awareness. "Very appropriate. And enticing."

She handed William the bottle to open as she held the flutes, chuckling seductively as the cork popped. He poured the champagne, and she handed him one of the glasses. "To a miracle," he said by way of a toast.

"And to those who make them," she concurred as they touched glasses.

William took a sip, then said, "And Happy Second Birthday, Peter Bishop."

Nina smiled fondly. "He really is the most beautiful boy. We did well."

"Now, Nina, don't take that much credit. The boy's genes belong to his parents. I know how much you were hoping to be able to be an egg donor, but… "

Nina silenced him with a quick kiss. "I know, William. He looks quite a bit like Walter already, but he has his mother's eyes, doesn't he?"

"He does," William agreed as he drained the glass. "I'm going to take a shower. Care to join me?"

"Not this time," she chuckled. "I think I'll just have some more champagne for now."

As soon as William closed the bathroom door behind him, Nina stood and grabbed her robe from a chair near the bed, and padded into the living room. Settling onto the plush sofa, she picked up the phone on the coffee table and dialed a number.

On the third ring, she heard a click. "Bishop's 'dence," a tiny voice said, bringing a warm smile to Nina's face.

"Peter? Peter Bishop, you big boy, is that you?" she asked.

"Hi, 'Antina," the little boy on the other end of the line said happily.

"You're just who I called to speak to. And do you know why?"

She heard a woman's whisper, then Peter said, "'S'my birthday!"

"Yes! It is!" Nina couldn't help but smile; at only two years old, Peter Bishop was amazingly verbal. "Happy Birthday, sweet boy."

She heard the woman's voice again, whispering, "Say thank you, sweetheart."

"Thank you… _sweetheart_," the boy said very seriously.

Stifling a laugh, Nina said, "You're very welcome. Are you going to have fun today?"

"Wanna play with Daddy. But Daddy working at the lab today. But be home soon."

"Oh, I'm sure he'll be home to spend lots of time with you. And there will be cake, of course."

"Cake!" the boy squealed. "Chocklit cake! With ice cream. Daddy promised."

Nina was about to speak again, when Peter said, "Gotta go, bye!" She heard the phone clatter onto a hard surface and the sound of tiny running feet. Shaking her head, she burst into laughter.

"Peter Albert Bishop!" Elizabeth called in exasperation as she picked up the fallen receiver. "Nina, I'm so sorry about that!"

Still laughing, Nina said, "Please, don't worry about it, Elizabeth."

"He's such a handful. He'll run me ragged by the end of the day!"

"Feed him lots of sugar. Maybe he'll crash early," Nina said dryly.

Elizabeth chuckled ruefully. "You sound like Walter. I slept in this morning, and when I got to the kitchen, he and Peter were having chocolate chip pancakes and Red Vines for breakfast."

"Oh, dear," Nina said.

"I told him he wouldn't think it was such a grand idea when we start taking Peter to the dentist! But you know Walter. 'Nonsense, my dear, it's his birthday! We eat special food on our birthday!' Honestly, I don't know who's the bigger child – Peter or my husband."

"It's a dead heat, I'd imagine," Nina offered. "Well, I won't keep you, dear, I just wanted to call and wish the birthday boy a happy day. I was wondering… if you're not busy this weekend, would you like to come to the stables? We have a new pony that I think Peter would fall head over heels in love with."

There was silence on the line for a moment, then, "That would be lovely, Nina, thank you. Peter loves horses. And puppies, and lizards, and bugs… " Elizabeth sighed. "Really, Nina. Thank you. I was watching him sleep last night. He's so happy and so beautiful. So perfect. And he's mine, because of you and William. I can't even… "

"No need to thank me. Being his 'Antina' is more than enough. Have a wonderful day, and give him a hug for me, if you can pin him down long enough."

"I will," Elizabeth replied. "Goodbye, Nina."

"'Bye, Liz." Nina hung up the phone, staring wistfully into space for a moment before realizing she wasn't alone. "Don't start, William," she warned.

"We've talked about this, Nina. He's Walter and Elizabeth's child. You can't get emotionally involved," William scolded.

"And why not?" she barked back. "What's wrong with being fond of the son of two dear friends of mine? Aren't I the boy's godmother?"

"That was a token, Nina, and well you know it," William replied coldly.

"Elizabeth doesn't think it's a token. You know she's a devout Catholic."

"Yes, well, her superstitions and rituals are none of our concern. Having you and I as Peter's godparents made her happy, and that's fine. But he's simply another successful project; my interest in the boy is as an observer. I look forward to seeing his progress, considering the enhancements we made."

"He's already a very intelligent boy," Nina said, a hint of pride sneaking into her voice. "Elizabeth said he read the back of cereal box to her last week. At not even two." She sighed. "But he's still just a baby. He's so full of life, and sweetness, and giggles… he's a love. He really is."

"That's it. Go get dressed. You're coming with me," William said sternly.

"I don't appreciate being ordered around, William," Nina snapped.

"It's not an order," Bell said, his tone softening. "I just think you need to be reminded of something. And besides, there's something I want to show you. Let's call it my way of celebrating young Peter's birthday."

-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-

Nina snorted in exasperation when William pulled the car up in front of their destination. "The lab? Really? What are we going to do, give Walter a birthday present for the boy?"

William held the door as Nina got out of the car. "Walter will never even know we were here," he said cryptically.

"He most certainly will," Nina countered. "Peter told me Walter was working here today."

Bell led her around the corner from the front entrance to a small, unmarked door. "Good for him," he said nonchalantly as he chose a key from his keychain and slipped it into the lock. "He may be working in _our_ lab today, but I want to show you _mine_."

He led Nina down a long corridor, to yet another locked door. "William, what is this place? Do you mean that you're doing work that Walter doesn't know about?"

"Not entirely. He knew about part of it… I just took it to its next practical step." He unlocked the door and switched on the lights.

Nina squinted in the harsh light of the completely white room. As her eyes adjusted, she saw what looked like frosted glass coffins lining the walls. "William… " she breathed. "What are they?"

"They are the next generation of human beings, Nina. And we have Walter and Elizabeth to thank for them." William smiled.

"Walter and Elizabeth? What do you mean?"

"This," he said, sweeping his arms wide, "Is the next step in fertility. After Walter and Elizabeth had their miracle baby, we had a great deal of genetic material left over – eggs, sperm samples, even some of the baby's genetic material from the umbilical cord and Elizabeth's placenta."

"You kept those? William!" Nina gasped.

"Oh, don't look so offended, Nina – what would you do with them? The stem cells in the cord are far too valuable to simply discard. Someday, scientists will see that. And what were they going to do with the placenta? Plant it?" William scoffed.

"Those belong to Walter and Elizabeth… and Peter," Nina scolded.

"And who knows? Maybe they'll come in handy someday. But in the meantime, I've used those materials, along with some of the genetic modifications I made during the fertilization process, to do something wondrous." He pushed a button on a console. "Behold," he said grandly as a computer screen lit up, "The Peter Project."

"Oh, God," Nina whispered as the frosted glass on the "coffins" started to dissipate, and the figures inside each enclosure became clear. She walked timidly to one of the casket-like containers and looked through the glass.

A boy, who appeared to be ten years old, lay as though sleeping peacefully, his long eyelashes resting against flawless, rosy cheeks. Curling dark blond hair, on its way to turning brown, framed the full face. Nina rested her hand on the glass, just over the child's face. "Dear God, William, is this… "

"Peter? No. Not the living, breathing Peter. Peter's as human as you or I. _That_'s Peter Nine. It's… "

"A clone? William, what the hell are you thinking!" Nina shouted.

"I'm thinking," William said, irritated, "That Peter Bishop is flawed. Yes, he's a happy, healthy little boy. For now. But the modifications we made to the genetic material may cause… anomalies. Mutations. Susceptibility to illnesses far beyond the usual childhood chicken pox."

"Did you know about these _anomalies_?" Nina spat. "I certainly had no idea. William, why didn't you correct them?"

"And ruin a perfectly viable experiment? Why would I do that?" he said, incredulous. "He's fine, Nina. At least for now. And when things go wrong – " He looked at her horrified face. "If things go wrong, we can use one of these samples to adjust, modify, and correct the problem. Extract the genetic material – identical to the child – test it, experiment with it, then use it to cure the ailment. Imagine the possibilities, Nina. Imagine being able to have an entire collection of beings with your exact genetic makeup, available at a moment's notice for use in case of a medical emergency? If Peter loses an arm in an accident in the next couple of years? Take one from Peter Seven; he's about the right age. If he should need a liver transplant at seventeen, there's no need to look for a donor. Peter Seventeen can be his donor."

Nina, one hand still gently resting on the glass casket, put her other hand to her mouth. "I think I'm going to be ill," she muttered.

"Oh, don't be so melodramatic. You won't be upset when I tell you that after young Peter was born, I was able to synthesize a totally, 100% healthy version. No anomalies, no mutations. As a matter of fact, that Peter – I call him Peter Zero – is perfect. I truly believe that it would never contract even one illness, major or minor." He pushed another button, and another clear casket slid out from behind a panel on the far wall.

Hesitantly, Nina stepped over to the new container. Inside lay a tall, lanky young man of about thirty with short brown hair. There was no mistaking the resemblance to the child across the room; this, too, was Peter Bishop. A fond smile crossed her face. "So handsome," she murmured.

"Yes, well, " William said dismissively. "This is the one version of Peter that must be kept safe at all times. Each one of these iterations has the same genetic flaw as Walter's Peter – except this one. Should the need ever arise, this version can be activated and used to synthesize a completely new DNA code for him. Of course, that would destroy the clone, as each of these would be destroyed after activation. That can't be avoided."

"You mean, these boys would all die if you woke them?"

"They're not boys, Nina. They're _subjects_. And yes, degradation begins as soon as activation is achieved. It takes a little longer when they're activated on a dormant, rather than a sentient, level, but such is the sacrifice of science. I had, oh, I don't know, about twenty of them degrade and expire during the process."

"Oh, God," Nina said again. "What is he like?" she asked softly, tracing "Peter's" face through the glass.

"What do you mean? They're practically a tabula rasa – at least the ones I dealt with."

"Like lambs to the slaughter. William, how could you?"

"Don't worry, Nina, I'm not going to do anything sinister with them, like raise an army of lookalike Peter Bishops to take over the world," he snorted. "Honestly, you're a scientist, just like I am, and just like Walter is."

"And what do you think Walter would say?" she questioned.

"Well, if he objected, I'd call him a damned hypocrite," William said calmly.

"So, why keep this a secret?"

"Because he wouldn't understand," Bell replied. "He'd be like you – all righteously indignant. And he'd report me. He was fine when we were playing God and tinkering with genetics to create his precious child. But take it to the next step? Oh, no, that would be blasphemous." Bell shook his head. "You'll see, though. Someday, you'll need my work. And now, you know how to find it. I'll set up a password for you."

Nina shrunk back as William approached her. "Why did you show me this?"

"To remind you that Peter Bishop is not a child. He's a thing, Nina. A science project come to wondrous life. But he's easily replaced. Just look around you. You want one? Just say the word. How old? Three? Nine?" He pointed at the child in the glass case she had been looking at. "Or would you prefer your child fully grown? It all can be done, Nina. He's not a miracle. He's not magic. He's _science_…"

-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-

Nina shook her head to bring herself back to the present. She stared at the monitors showing the status of the various clones of Peter Bishop. What had Brandon Fayette been doing in here? Had he discovered the "subjects"? If not, what other reason would he have to be in the lab?

She pulled up the information on Peter Zero and read the file. Everything was as it should be, but as she scrolled through the files of the other subjects in the project, she noticed that at least two were no longer listed. Their files had been deleted. "What… "

She was interrupted by the sound of her cell phone ringing. She hastily logged off, and answered the phone. "Yes, Nina Sharp."

"Nina!" Walter's voice boomed. "I think I've found it! I think I've been able to synthesize another cure for Peter's mutation. Could you come at once, please? You were so very kind to him during the last treatment – I think he could use something like a mother's touch."

Nina closed her eyes and swallowed against the lump in her throat. "Of course, Walter. I'll be right there."

"Marvelous. Thank you so much," Walter said, and hung up.

"You're welcome, Walter," Nina said to no one.


	11. Chapter 11

**I'm BACK! Hope you're still interested! Sorry for the long hiatus, but I guess we Fringe fans are used to that, huh? Props and hugs, as always, to DixieGirl256!**

11.

There was no way around it. No other possible explanation. Peter put the pen down on the plastic bedside table in disgust.

He'd been over the information Olivia had given him about the Fringe event at St. Claire's a dozen times or more now, cross-referencing it against the timing of his illness, and Peter could only conclude one thing: somehow, the universe was trying to course correct, and the reason it needed to was _him_. As soon as Peter had been given Walter's treatment, the event at St. Claire's began.

He didn't want to believe it; there was something incredibly conceited about the thought. At the same time, though, it was hard to argue with it. Peter ran a hand through his hair, forgetting about the IV port Walter had inserted that morning to prepare him for the afternoon's treatment.

Peter winced; _oh, yeah_, he thought. _The treatment_. What would happen this time, if Walter's latest cure succeeded? A tidal wave? Earthquake? An entire neighborhood collapsing in on itself? The possibilities were endless. He chuckled mirthlessly at something he once said to the late Dr. Sumner: _You have no idea what I'm capable of_…

"Yeah, no shit," he mumbled, rubbing the irritation at the site of the IV port .

He could be wrong, of course; it could be a complete coincidence. But something inside Peter told him that wasn't the case. The case… He sighed. Amazingly enough, he had _become_ a case. Maybe he always had been one, he mused. After all, didn't all the madness begin when one man decided to save one boy – _him_?

Looking at the clock, he saw he still had an hour to go until the treatment – far too much time to think about everything. Before he said anything to anyone, he had to be sure; the second treatment would definitely be the deciding factor. If another event occurred after this treatment – if it worked – then Peter would know for certain that he was the cause. How would he tell Olivia? And Walter? It would break Walter's heart.

He looked again at the files spread out on the table before him, the files Olivia had brought over. She had found him in the middle of a nightmare, and he had found himself unable to distinguish between the tormenting Olivia of his nightmare and the one who had looked so stricken at his bedside. Sighing again, he thought back on how brusque he'd been with her. Grabbing his cell phone from the table, he thought for a moment, and began to type.

-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-

Olivia's phone buzzed on her desk as she finished up the last of her paperwork before she headed to the hospital. Picking it up, she couldn't help but smile at the text that appeared:

**I'm an asshole**.

She typed back:

**But you're MY asshole. Feeling ok?**

She waited for a moment, then read:

**Like a jerk. I'm sorry.**

Olivia shook her head, and typed:

**4 what? It's ok. Just talk to me when ur ready, please? I worry.**

A pause.

**ok. I love you.**

She typed back:

**I know.**

Laughing, she read his almost immediate reply:

**So, what? I'm Princess Leia, now?**

Her reply:

**No metal bikinis 4u. EVER. Not even a Speedo.**

His:

**Excellent. Skinny dipping it is.**

Olivia felt a twinge in her chest; it astonished her sometimes how much she loved this man. If you had asked her five – no, not even five – years ago if she would find herself in love with a man like Peter Bishop, she would have laughed in your face. Yet here she was, and she was damned sure she wasn't going to let him go without a fight.

She typed:

**Be there soon. Don't start the fun without me.**

She waited for a reply for a moment. When none came, she typed again:

**Peter?**

Still no reply.

**Peter? What's wrong? **

She let out a breath she didn't know she'd been holding when she finally read:

**Nothing. Sorry. See u later, ok?**

She knew he was lying. Again. Something was troubling him terribly, and he didn't feel he could talk to her about it. Was it something _about_ her? Gritting her teeth in frustration, she typed:

**OK. We'll talk later. Hang in there.**

She read:

**Hanging. XOXOXO**

Olivia touched the screen tenderly. "I love you, too," she whispered, then put the phone back in her pocket as Astrid entered. "Hey," she greeted the junior agent.

"Hey," Astrid replied, a sympathetic smile on her face. "Sorry to interrupt. Was that Peter?"

"That's okay. Yeah, it was."

Astrid noticed a shadow cross Olivia's face. "Is he okay? Is he worse?"

"No, no, he's pretty much the same. Walter has him stabilized after the dialysis. But… something's going on with him, Astrid."

Astrid sat down next to Olivia. "Well, he's been sick for awhile now, _and_ had a relapse. I imagine he'd be a little depressed."

"I suppose so, but this isn't depression. He's… _thinking_ about something. I know, that sounds unbelievably obtuse, but it's like he's got something on his mind that he can't share with anyone else. Not Walter, not even me."

"How long has this been going on?"

"A while now. He's been seeing things – I think the visions have something to do with me. I think he may have told Walter about them, but I can't get him to tell me. Sometimes, Astrid, when he wakes up, and sees me there with him, he's afraid of me," Olivia said softly.

"Afraid of you? Olivia, don't be silly," Astrid laughed.

"These visions… he and Walter were talking about them at the house before we went away a couple of weeks ago, I'm sure of it. I only came in on the end of the conversation, but Walter was talking about the two of us being married and having kids."

"Well, that certainly doesn't sound like anything to be afraid of," Astrid offered. "Peter loves you so much. I'll just bet he'd love to have kids."

"No, it's not that. I want to know what led to that discussion. Astrid, has Peter ever told you what happened when he was in the Machine?" Olivia suddenly asked.

"What? No, he hasn't said a thing," Astrid replied. "Why?"

"What if Peter saw something while he was in there? What if the Machine showed him something, or put some kind of idea in his head, about me?"

"Like some kind of hypnotic suggestion?"

"Maybe. I guess. Arrgh!" Olivia growled, pulling at her hair in an uncharacteristic show of frustration. "How many impossible, insane, disturbing things have we seen, Astrid?"

"You really want a number?" Astrid said dryly.

"Exactly. And after all this time, nothing fazes me. Nothing. Except… "

"Your boyfriend," Astrid grinned. At Olivia's raised eyebrow, she retorted, "What? What else should I call him?"

Olivia rolled her eyes. "Boyfriend just sounds so… _high school_."

Astrid laughed. "Oh, I don't even want to think about what Peter was like in high school!"

The two women shared a look for a moment, and simultaneously said, "Bad boy."

Her laughter fading, Astrid patted Olivia on the shoulder. "Listen. He's crazy about you. And he's going through a lot of bad stuff right now. But he knows you're here for him. And… well, he's _Peter_. He doesn't unload on people easily. If he's going to talk about what's bothering him, it'll be with you. Just give him a little time."

Olivia squeezed Astrid's hand on her shoulder. "Thanks. I… I just hope we _have_ the time."

-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-

Nina took a moment to compose herself before entering Peter's room in the infirmary. She hadn't thought about William's little science project in years; she had willed herself not to, knowing its possible ramifications. She hoped that Walter's latest attempt at a cure for Peter's illness would be lasting. It had to be, because Nina found herself thinking far too much about William's suggestions regarding the Peters all those years ago. What if…

"No," she said aloud, scolding herself and opening the door to Peter's room. Plastering a smile on her face, she called softly to him, "Peter?"

Peter, who had been dozing, rubbed his eyes, reminding Nina so much of the little boy she used to know. "Huh? Oh, hi, Nina," he said groggily.

"Looks like I beat your father here. He called to tell me the treatment was going to begin soon. I wanted to be here for you." She pulled up a chair and sat down next to him.

"That's kind of you. Really," Peter said sincerely, a weak smile briefly lighting his pale face. "I know they say the third time's the charm, but I'm really hoping it's the _second_ in my case, you know?"

Nina smiled and gently patted his arm, which was mottled with bruises. "Let's think positively. This treatment will succeed, and you'll be up and around in no time."

"Yeah," Peter said half-heartedly.

The door Nina had just entered opened again. Nina turned to see Brandon Fayette enter, wheeling a cart with medical equipment. "Ah, here we go again," Peter said jokingly. "Hey, Brandon."

"Hey, Mr. – I mean, Peter," Brandon corrected himself. "Yeah, here we go again. But this time, we're gonna get it right. This one will stick," he said encouragingly.

"Look at me, with the big ol' cheering section," Peter smiled. "Thanks, Brandon. I hope Walter hasn't been riding you too hard on this. I know how he gets when he has a goal in mind."

"Eyes on the prize," Brandon agreed. "He's been fine."

"Define, 'fine?' With Walter, there's a sliding scale," Peter said, his voice still rough with fatigue.

"Peter, maybe we should wait a day," Nina said, concerned. "You still seem a bit weak."

Peter shook his head, yawning. "Uh-uh. We're doing this today. I want outta here – no offense, Nina. The service at this establishment is… " Another yawn. "Top notch."

"I can tell," Nina chuckled, reaching out to touch Peter's hair briefly. "Why don't you close your eyes, and try and get a bit of rest before Walter arrives?" she suggested, noticing that Peter's eyes were already closing. Turning to Brandon, she said, "May I speak with you for a moment, Dr. Fayette?"

"Uh… sure," Brandon stammered. Nina led them a few feet from Peter's bed to the corner of the room. "Is something wrong, Ms. Sharp?"

Lowering her voice, Nina said, "Brandon, what were you doing in the sub-basement earlier?"

"The sub-basement?" Brandon repeated. "Oh! Dr. Bishop was looking for some files on Peter's previous illnesses, and I hit the wrong elevator button. Wound up down there… wow, that place is cavernous! Who knew it even existed?"

"Don't be coy, Dr. Fayette," Nina said sternly. "Access to the sub-basement is restricted, and I saw you down there."

"What were _you_ doing there?" Brandon countered.

"Listen to me," Nina said, her voice rising. "You will tell me what you were doing in the restricted area right now, or we are going to Dr. Bishop." She looked over her shoulder when she heard the rustling of sheets. Peter had shifted in the bed, but seemed to have settled.

"Are you sure you want to talk about this here? Because I'd be more than happy to discuss it with you. And Dr. Bishop. And Peter. _One of them_, at least," Brandon Fayette replied slyly.

-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-

_Damn IV port itches_, Peter thought to himself, shifting in the bed half-asleep.

"… Restricted area…" Nina's voice filtered through the fog. _Well, sure, this place probably has trap doors, too_, he mused.

"…more than happy to discuss it…" _Hm. Brandon's getting feisty…_

"…And Peter. One of them, at least…" _One of them? One of them… _The phrase followed Peter down into sleep.

-0-0-0-0-0-0-


	12. Chapter 12

12.

Walter swiped his ID card through the security sensor, and waited for the green light to admit him to the infirmary wing of Massive Dynamic. He still couldn't quite get used to the fact that the entire corporate conglomerate was his now; in earlier days, he'd be over the moon at the thought of unfettered access to some of the most groundbreaking science in the world, but now? He shuddered at what was possible, while at the same time still salivating at the prospect of new discoveries.

He juggled the folder that contained his documentation of Peter's treatment with the stethoscope he was trying to drape around his neck; he smiled at the memory of the day Peter had presented him with a brand new stethoscope, replete with hot-pink tubing. "Well, you're the head of Massive Dynamic, Walter – the king of medical research scientists should have the proper tools, don't you think?" he'd said as he proudly put the instrument around his father's neck. Peter had stepped back and looked at Walter. "Stylin'," was all he said as Walter beamed at him.

Walter was about to open the door to Peter's room, when he heard voices from inside; they seemed to be arguing. He opened the door to see Nina and Brandon Fayette in a heated discussion in the corner of the room.

"As I said, why _don't_ we take this up with Dr. Bishop?" Brandon was saying as Walter walked in.

"Take what up with me?" Walter asked.

Nina and Brandon both spun to look at him, startled. "Walter!" Nina exclaimed. Gathering herself, she said, "Oh, nothing, just some protocols. I think we need to establish a few more parameters for certain experiments, but Dr. Fayette, being the Young Turk he is, wants a bit more latitude."

"Well, I hardly think this is the time to discuss that, do you?" Walter said tersely. "Are the vials ready, Brandon?"

"Uh… almost, sir, just have to retrieve the last one. The centrifuge wasn't quite done with it last I checked," Brandon said sheepishly.

"Well, what are you standing around here for, then? Go!" Walter barked.

"Keep it down, will ya? Some of us are trying to sleep here," Peter grumbled sarcastically from his bed.

"Peter!" Walter exclaimed, rushing over to Peter's side. "I'm sorry, son." He placed a hand on Peter's forehead. "Very good," he said quietly. "How are you feeling?"

"A little tired, but I'm okay. Ready to get this show on the road," Peter replied as he watched Brandon scurry away, but not before exchanging an odd glance with Nina. "What's up with those two?" he said in a hushed tone to Walter.

"Who? Oh, Brandon? Oh, I don't know, it's fine. I think perhaps Nina feels he's overstepping his bounds," Walter assured him as he checked Peter's IV port.

"Overstepping his bounds? Always a great quality to have in a lab assistant, huh?" Peter joked, wincing as Walter poked at the IV port in his hand.

The door opened again, and Olivia entered. "So, what did I miss?" she said jovially as she walked over to Peter.

"Oh, I just did an interpretive dance to 'She Blinded Me with Science,'" Peter said drolly.

Olivia leaned down and kissed him soundly on the mouth. "Damn. Sorry I missed it," she replied nonchalantly. Her face still close to Peter's, she said softly, "How ya doin'?"

"Better now," he said, their foreheads touching. "I'm so – "

"Don't you dare," Olivia scolded. "When you're feeling better, we'll talk about what's been going on with you. But for now, I'm not mad. Okay? "

Peter nodded. "Okay. And when this is done, yeah, I have a feeling we're really gonna need to talk."

Brandon returned, wheeling his usual cart full of equipment and vials. "Uh…" he said, casting a glance at Nina, "Here's everything, Dr. Bishop. Sorry for the delay."

"Thank you, Brandon, you may go," Walter said briskly.

"The ice bath and cooling blankets are at the ready," Brandon added.

"That's fine, Brandon. Thank you." At Walter's dismissive tone, Brandon scowled, and left the room.

"A little short with him, weren't you, Walter?" Peter said.

"Hm? Was I? Oh, I didn't notice," Walter said absent-mindedly. "All right, son. I think you know the drill by now," he added solemnly. "I wish there were another way, truly I do."

"I know, Dad, it'll be fine," Peter assured him. "Let's go."

Walter nodded, and silently began the treatment, following the same procedures as the previous time. Peter took deep breaths to calm himself, in anticipation of his previous reaction.

A minute passed, but Peter had no reaction. "Walter, what's going on? Last time, I was practically seeing pink elephants on parade and spontaneously combusting."

"This is very interesting," Walter mused as Olivia took Peter's hand. "Perhaps the modifications I made to combat the mutation also changed the absorption rate."

He was about to insert the digital thermometer in Peter's ear, when Peter suddenly gasped, his back arching, and his eyes rolling back in his head. Olivia grasped his hand more firmly. "Walter, this isn't like last time," she said, frightened.

"Peter?" Walter said, a hint of panic in his voice. "Peter, this is your father, Walter Bishop. Can you hear me?" He grasped Peter's face in his hands. "Peter!"

Peter's eyes came to focus on his father's. "It _is_ my fault… " he murmured, before going completely limp, the monitors next to the bed flat-lining.

"Step back, Olivia," Walter said brusquely, lowering the head of Peter's bed to a flat position, and throwing the pillow behind his head to the floor. "Nina, get – "

Nina was already wheeling a crash cart over to the bed while Walter lowered the front of Peter's hospital gown to expose his chest. She prepared the defibrillator, and calmly handed the paddles to Walter.

"Thank you," was all Walter said before calling, "Clear!" Olivia and Nina stepped back as Walter shocked his son, Peter's body jerking off the bed violently before coming to rest again.

Olivia looked desperately at the monitors, breathing a sigh of relief when a rhythm returned to the screens. "Oh, God," she whispered, her hand over mouth.

"He's still not breathing," Walter said as Nina – as though reading his mind – handed him an ambu-bag, which he placed gently over Peter's mouth and nose, and squeezed. Air hissed from the bag into Peter's lungs, his chest rising and falling.

"Walter?" Olivia said in a small voice.

Nina placed her arm around Olivia's shoulders. "He's doing everything he can," she said, trying to reassure Olivia.

"Ah!" Walter exclaimed. "What was that?" He leaned down close to Peter's head. "Yes! There you go, son. Deep breaths…" He paused. "Well, all right, shallow ones will do for now. That's a good boy." He tentatively removed the ambu-bag from Peter's face, satisfied at the shallow breaths he heard coming from his son. Smoothing Peter's hair, he repeated. "That's my good boy." Only then did he allow his hands to begin shaking. "Oh, dear," he sighed, staggering back.

"Walter, are you all right?" Nina said, grasping Walter's arms.

"Of course," he said. "Of course…" Clearing his throat, he picked up an oxygen mask and placed it on Peter's face. "There, that's better. We'll keep him on O2 for a few hours, and let him rest." Peter's face turned into his father's touch. "Oh, my, someone doesn't want to sleep," Walter said cheerfully. "We could never get him to sleep when he was little. Son? Peter, are you back with us?" He watched as Peter's eyes opened briefly, then closed again, but not before a tear escaped and slid down his cheek. Walter wiped it away with his thumb. "There, now, it's all right. You just sleep now."

Olivia stood on the other side of the bed, and kissed Peter's hair. "You're gonna be fine, baby," she said, not sure if he could hear her. "Second time's the charm."

-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-

Nina stayed for a half-hour after Peter's treatment, standing silently in a corner watching Olivia and Walter hovering on either side of the bed. Peter awoke occasionally, and would smile weakly to reassure them both. "I'm okay," he repeated more than once before slipping back into sleep.

Feeling she had outstayed her welcome, Nina decided to track down Brandon Fayette and get to the bottom of his presence in the sub-basement. "Walter," she said softly, touching his shoulder, "I'll take care of logging the treatment in for you, all right? You stay here with Peter."

"Yes, yes," Walter said, his voice shaky. "Thank you, Nina," he said, without taking his eyes off his son.

As she turned to leave, she heard Peter's voice. "Nina?" She turned back to face the bed. "Thank you," he said, his voice barely a whisper.

Swallowing the lump in her throat, she replied, "I didn't do anything, dear, but you're welcome. I'll see you all later," she added, and left the room quickly. As she looked down the hall, she saw Brandon Fayette waiting patiently by the elevator, seemingly waiting for her. "Have you been here all this time?" she asked testily.

"I have," he replied coolly. "I thought we might continue our conversation. Or rather, you could continue your accusations."

"I don't like your tone," Nina snapped.

"I don't like being accused," he retorted.

"All right," she said, taking a cleansing breath. "Brandon, what were you really doing in the sub-basement? And how did you get the access code?"

Brandon hit the elevator button. As the doors slid open, he ushered Nina inside. "It was easy to hack, actually." He pushed the "Restricted," button and swiped his ID card.

"Access restricted," the voice droned. "Password."

"Would you like to, or shall I?" he said to Nina. When she didn't reply, he shrugged and pulled a small device from his pocket, holding it against his throat. "Suit yourself. Peter Zero," he said calmly.

"Access granted. Welcome back, Dr. Bishop."

Nina stared in disbelief. "It… it thinks you're Walter? Where did you get that device?"

"From the boss," he said cryptically as the doors to the sub-basement opened. "I'm sort of his proxy here, so he gave me this little gizmo to approximate his voice."

"Walter never said anything to me about giving you access."

Brandon shrugged again. "Guess you're not as vital to day-to-day ops as you think," he said cheerfully. He gestured to a chair, and as Nina sat down, he said, "Look, whatever you think, I'm doing this for everyone's good. The Boss gave me access for research purposes. And having access to this lab has helped me help him with his work to save his son. So, what's the problem?" He took the seat opposite her nonchalantly.

"The problem, Brandon… " Nina leaned forward. "Is that Walter Bishop doesn't know that this lab exists." Her eyes narrowed. "You work for _him_, don't you? The other one. Walternate. You're the Brandon from the Other Side. The Secretary probably had a similar project to the one William Bell initiated here."

Brandon's mask of cool slipped, but only for a moment. "Busted," he chuckled. "He asked me to stay behind and see what kind of Peter Project you guys had compared to his… which was a bust, by the way. The old man didn't have the stomach for it, it seems."

"Where's our Brandon?"

"Oh, don't worry, he's safe and sound on the other side – lucky son of a bitch," Brandonate groused. "I can't believe he let the bridge close without pulling me out."

"You have my sympathies," Nina said sarcastically.

"Thanks," he replied with equal venom. "Anyway, I figured that since I have access to this wonderful genetic toy box, why not use it? This Walter is way too damaged to come up with a truly viable treatment for poor, poor Peter, so I took it upon myself to help the process along. Isn't that what the project was started for in the first place?"

"So… you're using genetic materials from the project to enhance Peter's treatments?" Nina asked incredulously.

"Yup. Worked pretty well the first time, but I have a feeling there may be other variables at work here. Still, doesn't hurt to try it one more time, right?" He stared at Nina, gauging her reaction. "Seriously, Ms. Sharp, if you're worried that your little secret is going to get out, don't. I mean, could you imagine the fallout if word got out that Massive Dynamic was engaging in human cloning? All those government contracts, and money from the DOD and NIH… poof!" He snapped his fingers. "I'm tellin' ya, catastrophic!"

"Yes, well… thank you for your discretion, Brandon. I agree, it's best that we keep this strictly between us. No need to tell Walter – I mean, this Walter. My Walter… just keep your mouth shut, all right?" Nina rose suddenly, and rushed out of the lab.

As the doors closed behind her, Brandonate grinned. "No problem, _Ms. Sharp_. This is gonna be fun." He turned to the sliding wall, behind which lay the subjects of the Peter Project. "Okay, boys, who's next? Eeny, meeny, miny, mo…"


	13. Chapter 13

13.

Olivia slid her arms around Peter's waist as he stood in front of the stove. "You should be resting, not cooking," she said, resting her cheek between his t-shirt-clad shoulder blades and enjoying the feel of his muscles working as he stirred the pot.

"I'd hardly call making oatmeal cooking," he replied. "Besides, you and Walter have been playing nursemaid since I got back from the infirmary. You've earned a proper breakfast."

"Peter," Olivia said seriously as she turned him to face her, "It's been a grand total of three days. We haven't _earned_ anything. We're just happy you're better again." She peeked over his shoulder at the pots and pans on the stove. "But… oatmeal, pancakes, bacon… wow, if you'd waited another few days to reward us, what were we gonna get? Lobster thermidor?"

The three days since Peter's heart had stopped during his treatment had progressed fairly uneventfully. Peter, though extremely weak, was allowed to go home under strict supervision by Walter and Olivia, with frequent contributions from Astrid. Walter proclaimed him an excellent patient, while Olivia and Astrid worried at how quiet he'd been. The fight and good humor he had displayed after his first treatment was missing this time. He didn't seem depressed to Olivia, exactly. He seemed to be _thinking_.

Peter sighed, leaning his head down to touch Olivia's forehead with his own. "What is it?" Olivia asked softly, tilting his face up slightly to meet hers. "You're getting better every day, but you've withdrawn from us . Are you afraid of another relapse?"

Peter fingered a lock of Olivia's blond hair and searched her eyes for a moment. "Yeah, I guess so," he finally admitted.

"I can't imagine what it must be like," Olivia said as her thumb caressed his stubbled cheek.

"Sure you can," Peter said with a wan smile. "You're going through this with me. And I'm sorry about that, Olivia, I really am."

"As a wise man once told me, don't be," Olivia replied. "Do you want to talk about it now, Peter?"

His face fell for a moment. "I… I don't know," he said, pulling away from her.

"Peter, we agreed. You promised me we would talk about what's been bothering you," Olivia insisted as Peter turned away. "I know you've been having hallucinations."

Peter froze, then turned slowly back to Olivia. "What?"

"I know you've been seeing things. And they have something to do with me. Please, Peter, tell me what's happening to you."

"I can't. I don't even know what's going on myself. I have an idea, but… " Peter rubbed the back of his neck. "Listen, would you mind if I went out for a couple of hours?"

"You sure you're feeling up to it?" Peter nodded. "Okay, sure. Where do you want to go?"

"I mean, I need to go someplace _alone_, Liv," Peter corrected.

"Alone? Uh-uh. You're not strong enough yet. I'll come with you," Olivia insisted.

"No," he replied adamantly. "Don't worry, I'm not going to do anything stupid. I just need to be alone for a little while. I've had everybody taking care of me for what feels like forever – don't get me wrong, I love you for it, please don't ever think otherwise – and I just need to be by myself."

"Are we that smothering?" Olivia asked with a small smile, assuring Peter she wasn't angry.

"Let's just say, _enthusiastic_," Peter joked. "Really, hon, I just need to go to the park or something and get inside my head for a while, okay? I'll dress warmly, I promise," he smiled, nudging her arm.

"You're avoiding," Olivia scowled.

"Yup," he agreed. "But only for a little while longer. Please, Olivia. Please understand."

Olivia sized him up for a moment, then snaked her arms around his waist and pulled him close. "Okay," she mumbled into his chest as she snuggled close to him.

"Okay," he repeated, kissing the top of her head. "Thank you."

"Hey, you're a grown man," she said as they parted. "What was I gonna do? Hold you at gunpoint?"

"Like you wouldn't?" Peter said flatly.

-0-0-0-0-0-

Peter leaned against the back of the cab's seat and closed his eyes, willing back the dizziness he was already starting to feel. "Franklin Park, please," he said.

"Sure thing," the cabbie replied as he pulled away from the Bishop House. As he smoothly navigated the cab through the city streets, he looked at his passenger via the rearview mirror. Noticing his pallor, he said, "Hey, are you sure you're okay back there?"

Peter opened his eyes, and leaned over to get a look at the driver's ID. "Yeah, I'm fine, thanks… Henry. Just been a little under the weather. Figure a couple of hours in the sunshine might help."

"Yeah, it's a good place to think, too," Henry the cabdriver added. "You look like you have a lot on your mind, my friend, if you don't mind my saying."

Peter raised an eyebrow. "And if I did mind?"

Henry chuckled. "I'd probably say it anyway." He saw Peter relax, and a smile cross his face. "Seriously, man, you look like you have the weight of the world on your shoulders."

"I'm that obvious, huh?"

"Well, yeah. And the way you kept looking back at that lady in the window who was watching your every move didn't help your case much. Wife?"

"No," Peter said sadly. "But I'd hoped she would be, if we had the time."

Henry's face turned serious. "If you'd had the time? Wait… you dyin' or something, man?"

Peter shrugged. "Dunno."

"Wow. What's wrong, if you don't mind my asking?"

"I don't mind. It's a genetic illness. Don't worry," Peter smiled, "It's nothing contagious."

"Thought never crossed my mind," Henry said. "I'm sorry for ya. But you seem like a pretty tough guy, and you've got your girlfriend. Got any other family?"

Peter nodded. "Yeah, there's my dad. He's a scientist. And a medical doctor. He's been working on a cure. And there's Astrid… "

"Sister?"

"Sort of. From another mother." Peter smiled affectionately.

"Nice. That's good, you got family. 'Cause, man, if you have family, lean on 'em. That's what they're there for. They love you, and they'll stick, ya know?"

"Yeah, I know. Whether I deserve it or not."

"Say what? You seem like a pretty nice guy, uh… "

"Peter."

"Peter. You look like a good guy. Why wouldn't you deserve having a family that cares about you?"

Again, Peter shrugged. "No reason," he said noncommittally. He looked out the window of the cab. "Listen, pull over at the next corner, please?"

"Thought you wanted go to the Park," Henry said. "This block's nothing but law firms."

"Yeah, I know. Pull over right here, please?" Henry eased the cab into a space near the corner. "Would you mind waiting? I'll pay double whatever's on the meter."

Henry turned and looked into Peter's pale, slightly sweaty face. "Not necessary. I'll wait as long as you want. You want me to come in with you? You don't look so good."

"No, thanks, Henry. This is a one-man job."

Henry handed Peter his card. "My number's on here. If you start feeling poorly, and need help, you call me right away, okay? I can take you to the hospital, or home, or whatever."

Peter took the card, and to Henry's surprise, shook his hand. "You're a good guy, Henry. Thanks."

As Peter exited the cab, Henry watched him slowly climb the steps of one of the brownstones. _Poor guy_, he thought to himself. _And poor Olivia, whoever she is_.

-0-0-0-0-0-0-

The receptionist smiled at Peter as he entered. "Hi, " Peter said, returning the smile. "Peter Bishop for Dennis Callahan? I have an appointment."

"Very good, Mr. Bishop. One moment." The receptionist picked up the phone and dialed a two-digit number. "Mr. Callahan? Peter Bishop is here. Okay." She looked back to Peter. "Go right on in. Second door on your left."

"Thanks." Peter walked past the receptionist and found the door with Callahan's name on it, then knocked.

The door opened to reveal a man of about 60, with snow white hair and a round, pleasant Irish face. "Mr. Bishop? Hi, Dennis Callahan, come on in." The man stepped aside to let Peter in.

"Thank you for seeing me on such short notice, Mr. Callahan," Peter said as he made his way to the lawyer's desk.

"No problem. And it's Dennis." He gestured to Peter to have a seat as he stepped around the desk to take his own.

"Thanks, Dennis. Then, I'm Peter," Peter said, easing himself into the chair, trying to ignore the aches that were coming on along with the dizziness.

Callahan took a glass from a tray on the desk and poured the contents of a pitcher into it. Holding it out to Peter, he said, "Water? You look like you could use some."

Peter smiled and took the glass, holding it in both hands to steady it. "Thanks. I've been ill, so the trip's made me a little woozy."

As Peter sipped the water, Callahan began, "I have to say, Peter, I'm surprised you're here."

"How's that?"

"Your family name precedes you. I would think that the son of the owner of Massive Dynamic would have a battery of lawyers to call on. What brings you to Bristow, Porter, and Hume? We're not exactly high-powered."

"What I need can't be handled by the lawyers that work for my father's company, Dennis. Because what I need done directly concerns my father." Peter put the glass down and leaned forward in his seat. "I need to have some documents drawn up."

"What kind of documents?"

"A will, a living will, and a specific cessation of treatment order."

Callahan sat back in his seat, his hands folded in front of his lips. "Well… that's quite a laundry list. Care to elaborate?"

"I have a genetic illness. In all likelihood, I'm dying. And for reasons I'd rather not go into, I can't allow my father to keep trying to save me. It's not worth it." He scraped a hand through his hair. "_I'm_ not worth it."

"Obviously, your father thinks you are," Callahan stated plainly. "How many times have you been treated?"

"Twice." Peter reached inside his pea coat and pulled out some papers. "As for the will, here's a list of people and organizations. I would like my inheritance to be placed in trust for them. The bulk of my estate will go to my… " He almost said, "Wife," but stopped short. "Will go to Olivia Dunham. And another portion will go to the other members of my family. But a large portion of it should be divvied up among that list."

Callahan took the papers and read through them silently. "May I ask who they are?"

"People I've wronged," Peter said softly. "Money can't undo the harm I've done to them, but I can at least try to pay back what I owe."

"All right, that's fine," Callahan said, putting the papers aside. "Now, the living will…"

"DNR order, all that stuff. And I specifically need to state that there will be no more attempts to find a cure for my illness. It stops here, and now."

"You seem awfully eager to die, Peter. You're a young man, and you obviously have people who love you. Why give up so easily?"

"As I said, there are reasons that would be too complicated to go into, Dennis. Now, will you help me?"

"Of course. What do you want to do when the documents are ready? I can file the will, but do you want me to deliver the living will and cessation of treatment order to your doctor? I'm assuming that's your father."

"No," Peter said adamantly. "Don't deliver it. This is going to break my father's heart. I should be man enough to break it myself. In person. I'll deliver it."

"All right. That's fine. I'll get the documents drawn up and have them sent to your home for your approval. Say, tomorrow morning? It's a fairly cut-and-dried situation."

Peter rose. "That's the first time I've ever heard my situation called cut-and-dried," he joked humorlessly. "Thanks, Dennis, that'll work for me. I'll be home to receive the documents." He proffered his hand, which Dennis took and shook warmly. "Seriously, thank you. It means a lot to me to have this… just in case."

"I hope we don't have to execute that will for a very long time, Peter. And as for the living will, I hope it gathers dust in your desk drawer at home."

-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-

Peter got back in the cab, shivering. "Hey, you all right? Let's get you back home, huh?" Henry said.

"No, not yet. One more stop. Mind a bit of a drive, Henry? There's someplace I need to see," Peter said cryptically.

"Okay," Henry said skeptically, "But as soon as that's done, you're goin' home. I don't wanna deliver you back sick to your missus and catch hell for it."

"Don't worry, Henry," Peter said, huddling against the window of the cab. "I'll probably catch enough hell for the both of us."

-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-


	14. Chapter 14

14.

"Damn shame," Mike Finnegan mumbled, throwing the backhoe into park and jumping out to join his fellow workers. "Me and the old man used to go fishin' in this lake. Caught some yellow perch as long as my arm. Now, look at it." He stood and looked out at the emptiness before him – what used to be a sparkling freshwater lake was now a vast, enormous sinkhole.

A younger man standing next to him said, "Still can't believe the whole frickin' lake just… what? Drained?"

"Yup. Just drained. They had fifty different scientists try and figure out what happened, and all they came up with was, 'extreme weather event.' Extreme weather even, my ass. This here's part of the end of the world, I'm tellin' ya." Mike shoved his work gloves in his pockets. "Gonna get colder than a witch's left tit in a few weeks. I do not want to be doing this into the fall."

"Say, Mike… is it true what I heard? Some guys at Doyle's said that there was actually a guy found crawling outta the lake after it had drained out. And he was naked and looked like he'd been hit by lightning," the younger man asked.

"That's what they say. Young guy. Talkin' outta his head. I think they took him up to St. Claire's. Probably still there, for all we know. Swear to God, there's all kinds of bad cess here, Jose. All kinds of bad cess."

The younger man, Jose, fingered the crucifix around his neck. "I don't like it here. They're not paying us enough."

"Fuckin' A. Let's just get our part of this thing done, and get outta here. Let the next crew deal with it."

As the crew spent the better of the afternoon hauling soil and dumping it into the vast crevice, Mike Finnegan shook his head and looked at the darkening sky. He looked back down at his watch; it was only 3 pm. Pulling his cell phone from his pocket, he dialed. "Yeah, it's Finnegan at Reiden. Check the weather report again for me, would ya?"

The voice on the other end said, "Clear, no wind, sunny, high in the 60's. Same as before. Why?"

Finnegan watched as his newspaper flew away in the wind that had kicked up, and looked again at the sky, which was turning a grayish-green color. ""Why? Because weathermen are for shit. Storm's comin' in from somewhere. It's getting too windy for the equipment. I'm callin' it for today."

"Do you what you think is best, but we have to report this," the voice said testily.

"Yeah, you go ahead and do that," Finnegan barked and hung up. "Wrap this up, boys, we're gone. Weather's turnin'."

Jose was standing at the bottom of the shallowest portion of what had been the lake bottom. "Mike… " he called. Finnegan leaned over to peer down at him. "Do you feel that?"

"I don't feel anything, except the wind. What's goin' on down there," he called down. As he spoke, he suddenly did feel something – a rumbling that seemed to come from deep beneath his feet. The air suddenly smelled of damp, rotting earth. "Get up outta there, now, Jose," he yelled.

Jose began to scramble up, but he suddenly found the soil muddy and slippery beneath his feet. "I can't!" he yelled, panicking. "Throw a rope down!" He looked up toward Mike and saw that behind him, the trees seemed to be shimmering. The wind howled louder. "Mike! What's happening? Mike?"

"Everybody! Outta here! Now!" He ran to get a rope from the truck, but a sudden gust of wind knocked him to the ground. As he struggled to get up, the rumbling beneath him grew more pronounced; the truck just yards from him began to shake. _Earthquake_? He thought to himself. _Can't be_. He then thought of the recent tremor in New York, and realize nothing was outside the realm of possibility.

That was his last thought before the ground beneath the truck exploded forth in a gush of water that shot fifteen feet straight up. He tried to get to his feet, but they started to sink into what was now mud. He looked down and watched as his pants legs became soaked with water that was gushing up for the ground around him.

Scrambling in the mud, he looked up in time to see at least five more geysers of water explode from the bottom of the lake. "Jose!" Mike screamed over the din of the wind and water, as he scrabbled back toward the hole on his stomach.

"Bad cess," he murmured again and again as he struggled to reach the precipice. He looked down; water six feet deep had already filled the hole. Jose's body floated a few yards away, face down. "Jesus H. Christ," Finnegan said, just before Reiden Lake reclaimed itself, and the deluge swept him down into its depths.

-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-

Peter shivered as he walked past the various gravestones and monuments, searching for the one he had come to see. This was a bad idea, he knew that; Olivia would have his head on a platter. Of course, his head was pounding so badly at that point, that he would probably welcome the beheading.

He looked over his shoulder at where Henry, the cabdriver, stood outside his vehicle with a disapproving look. "Just a few minutes, I promise," he called. The cabbie just grimaced and nodded. "Great, even the cabbie's pissed," he mumbled as he continued his search.

A few hundred yards later, he found what he was looking for; he thought he'd been prepared for it, but the sight of his own name on the headstone took his breath away. Pulling his coat tighter around himself, Peter stopped in front of the stone, reaching a hand out to touch it, then stepping back. "Well," he began, "I can't believe I'm doing this. I always laugh at the corny graveside scenes in the movies. But… I guess it's not so funny, now, is it?" He rocked back and forth on his heels for a moment. "I'm… so sorry, Peter," he finally said, his own name feeling foreign on his tongue. A sudden gust of wind knocked him back a few steps, but he planted his feet again, pulling the coat even tighter.

"I never meant for any of this to happen. But he knows. He knows, Peter – _I'm_ not his son. You are. And he still grieves for you. I see it in his eyes sometimes, you know? I'll say something, or do something, and I just know he's thinking of you – how you'd handle something I screwed up, or how you'd react to one of his jokes. I'm just… I dunno, maybe I'm just helping him handle a grief that would swallow him whole if I wasn't around. He was desperate. He thought that my father would be as paralyzed with grief as he was becoming, and he couldn't let it happen. He didn't mean to keep me." A violent shudder ran through him as the trees around him swayed in the wind, and a light rain began to fall. "I wasn't a replacement. I just… Mom… I mean _your_ mom… Shit, this is just so completely messed up… I just don't know what to do."

"You know," the voice behind him said. He turned to see FutureOlivia standing before him, her arms around young Peter. "You did the math. It's time."

Peter took a step toward the tormenting vision, but a searing pain in his stomach drove him to his knees as the wind grew fiercer and a heavy rain began to fall.

"Goddammit," Henry Higgins barked as he saw Peter Bishop fall to his knees. "Bad, bad, bad idea." He ran over to the stricken young man and lifted him up under his arms. "That's it. You're going to a hospital, man," he said only half-scoldingly.

"No," Peter mumbled, still looking back at the grave, and at the laughing face of his dead wife. "Please. Just take me home."  
>-0-0-0-0-<p> 


	15. Chapter 15

15.

Olivia took her fifth walk around the Bishop living room before peering out the window for the sixth time. She hated worrying. She hated feeling helpless. And, if she was being honest with herself, she kind of hated Peter a little right now for making her worry and feel helpless.

He still hadn't told her what was bothering him, nor had he given her any idea of what visions he'd been having throughout his illness. Olivia was certain it had something to do with her, and about what had happened to him when he stepped into the Machine. She kept telling herself that it was Peter's business; he was the one who had endured God knows what, and he would confide in her when he was ready. But it didn't hurt any less knowing that somehow, she was the cause of his pain, and he couldn't bring himself to tell her how to fix it.

She was about to start lap number six when her cell phone buzzed in her pocket. "Finally," she groaned as she took it out, then groaned again when she saw the Caller ID. "Yes, sir?" she sighed.

"Is everything all right, Agent?" Broyles' voice queried. "You sound… worried."

"No, sir, I'm fine. What's up?"

"I'm going to need you and Dr. Bishop on standby. Peter as well, if he's up to it. There's been another incident. A big one, even by our standards. I just received word that about 90 minutes ago, Reiden Lake refilled."

"It what?" Olivia asked, stunned.

"You heard me. Killed a fifteen-man construction crew that was working on landfill. NOAA and USGS both reported atmospheric and seismological disturbances just before the incident."

"Sudden wind and rain?" Olivia asked, looking out the window at the gloomy skies.

"Yes. You noticed it too," Broyles said, not needing to ask. "Both of those agencies are investigating it right now, as well as local authorities. They're still trying to recover the bodies. We've arranged to have one of them sent to Dr. Bishop for examination, but right now, we're standing down and letting our sister agencies do the preliminaries."

"Will there be anything left when they're done?" Olivia asked sarcastically.

"Agent Dunham, you know as well as I do that even if they picked the site clean, there would always be something they didn't see that _we_ will."

"True," Olivia agreed. "Sir, this… this is going to hit Peter pretty hard. Are you sure you need him on this?"

"His connection to the area can't be a coincidence, Agent. Peter may have knowledge of why this happened, and not even know he does. So, if at all possible, yes, we need him on this."

"Understood," Olivia answered, hating that she agreed.

"I'll contact you when it's our turn at the site. Make sure the Bishops are available," Broyles said, and hung up.

She had just put her phone back in her pocket when she heard a car door slam over the sound of the rain that had begun in earnest. She rushed over to the door and threw it open in time to see Peter and another man making their way carefully up the steps to the house. The man had his head down, and seemed to be speaking to Peter; he also had a firm arm around Peter's waist, as though to steady him.

"Peter!" Olivia called, and both men looked up. "Oh, my God. Henry?" Olivia gasped.

Henry Higgins stared at Olivia's smiling face in disbelief. "How do you know my name?" he asked as the three of them made their way into the house.

"I… I'm sorry, I think you drove me home one night after work," she covered.

"Lady, I never forget a pretty face," Henry said as he helped Olivia take off Peter's sodden coat as he stood silent and motionless. "And I don't remember yours."

"No, I'm sure it was you. Henry Higgins!" Olivia replied as she tipped Peter's face up to meet hers. Rain slid down his cheeks and dripped off the tips of the curls that formed around his face. "Peter?" She placed a palm on his cheek. "God, you're freezing."

Peter blinked owlishly at her, drops of rain falling from his lashes as well. "It's raining. They didn't say it would rain… " he said.

"Do you need help with him?" Henry asked, concerned.

"No, no thanks," Olivia said. "Oh, did Peter pay you?"

"Oh, yeah, no problem there. Your husband's a really good tipper. I'm set for the week," Henry grinned. "Listen, you sure he'll be okay? He was lookin' pretty sick at the cemetery."

"The… " Olivia shook her head. "Oh, Peter…"

"I'm double parked out there, so if you're gonna be okay… "

"Yes, we'll be fine. Thank you so much, Henry," Olivia said sincerely. "For everything."

"Peter has my card. If either of you needs to get anyplace, you just give me a call direct, okay? And… maybe you could let me know how he makes out. He's a good guy, your husband."

"He is, and I will. Count on it. And… I'm Olivia." She held out her hand, which Henry took.

"Olivia. Good to meet ya. Hey, you take care, okay, Peter?" he said as he opened the door.

"Okay," Peter replied. "Thank you," he called weakly as the door closed. He turned his bleary gaze back to Olivia as a shiver ran through him. "Hi," he said.

"Hi, yourself," she replied gruffly. "Come on, let's get your clothes off." She grabbed his hand and tugged him toward the stairs leading to the bathroom.

He stumbled obediently behind her, up the stairs and into the bathroom, where she stripped him and turned on the shower. "Gonna join me?" he grinned.

"Only if you can't stand up on your own," she said humorlessly.

"Olivia, I – "

"Get in," she commanded, steering him into the shower. She adjusted the temperature a bit, and satisfied he would stay upright, she turned her back to him and left the room.

"Olivia," Peter called to her as the heat of the water seeped into his bones, but did nothing to alleviate the chill he had felt coming from her. She was pissed. Oh, boy, was she pissed. "Olivia?"

A moment later, she reappeared with a towel and Peter's favorite bathrobe. Turning off the shower, she gently helped him out and wrapped the towel around him. He started drying himself off, and said, "I'm sorry."

"The _cemetery_, Peter? Really?" Olivia finally said after a long silence.

"It's not what you think," he said as she helped him on with the bathrobe.

"Oh, really? What do you think I think it is?" she demanded.

"I wasn't shopping," he said flatly. "Come here," he said, taking her hand and leading her into their bedroom.

They sat on the bed and Peter took Olivia's hands in his. "I went to see somebody."

Olivia looked at him quizzically. "Your mom?"

He shook his head sadly. "She was a suicide. The church wouldn't bury her in consecrated ground. She was cremated. I took her ashes back to Ireland, and scattered them at the Cliffs of Moher."

"Oh," Olivia said quietly, her anger fading. "Who _did_ you go to see, then?"

"Peter Bishop." At her shocked face, he said, "I had to, Liv. I had to tell him that I'm sorry for everything. That Walter understands that I'm not his son. That I haven't been trying to replace him."

"Why would you need to do that, Peter? What possible – " Her eyes widened. "That's who you're seeing in your hallucinations, isn't it? You're seeing Peter, aren't you?"

Peter took a deep breath and nodded. "Yeah, I'm seeing him. Among other people. Sometimes… sometimes I see my mom. And she blames me for her suicide. For leaving her alone." He looked away from Olivia, gazing down at their entwined hands.

Olivia took one of her hands and threaded it into his still-damp hair. "Hey, you know it wasn't your fault. This is all the illness talking."

"It's not," he protested. "It's not just the illness. It's the guilt, Liv. The guilt I've been trying for years to pretend I don't feel. And now I have… " He shook his head.

"What? Peter, come on, you've told me this much, don't stop." He shook his head again. "It's me, too, isn't it? You see me? Baby, I'm right here. Your mom, Peter Bishop, they're gone. They're ghosts."

"So are you," he whispered, still avoiding her gaze.

"What?" She took his face in her hands. "Look at me, Peter." His eyes barely caught her gaze. "I am _right here_."

"I saw the future," he rasped. "In the Machine."

Olivia's hands left Peter's face. She pulled him toward her, and scooted them both further onto the bed. Draping a throw over them both, she drew his head to her shoulder and kissed his hair. "Tell me," she said softly.

Peter hugged her close. "It felt like fire," he began. "Like I was going to burn from the inside out. I closed my eyes because I didn't want to see what was coming. When I opened my eyes, though, I was in the future." He sat up and faced Olivia. "It was worse than you could ever imagine, Olivia. I'd destroyed everything. I destroyed the other universe, and ours was dying as well as a result. It was all my fault, but they blamed Walter. He was… he was broken, and in prison, and we weren't even allowed to see him, until…"

Olivia's eyes were filling with tears. She had always wondered what had happened when Peter stepped into the Machine; now she wasn't sure she wanted to know.

"We were married." Peter voice broke through her thoughts.

"We were?"

Peter nodded. "And we were happy. Well, as happy as we could be considering the world was burning."

He fell silent for a while. Olivia squeezed his hand. "Don't stop. Tell me everything. What happened?"

"He killed you," Peter choked out.

Taken aback, Olivia said, "Who?"

Peter bit his lip, fighting for control as a tear slid down his cheek. "My _father_. To punish me. He'd been over here when I destroyed his… _our_ universe. So he told me he was going to destroy mine as I had his. He shot you."

"Oh, God," Olivia sighed.

"I remember it all. The phone call. Going to the morgue with Astrid. Seeing your… " He reached out to her. "Your beautiful face, so… so cold, and so still, and… I remember the funeral. A Viking funeral."

"A _Viking_ funeral?" she asked incredulously.

"There were no more burials because there were no more graves that could be dug," Peter said flatly. "I remember giving the eulogy, and everyone's faces. The pity in their eyes that I didn't deserve."

"Peter… "

"No, let me finish. I went home, and resolved that I was just going to sit there and drink myself to death. It was as much as I deserved. But Walter came over, and he told me we could fix it. That I could save you. Maybe even all of us. So I got back in the Machine and did it."

"Did what?"

"Built the bridge. I couldn't choose one universe over the other. We're linked. Inextricably linked. And I'm the reason. So I built the bridge, and erased myself."

"Wait," Olivia snapped. "Are you telling me that the reason we couldn't remember you when you came back… why you were Cameron King… was because you _deliberately_ _erased yourself from existence_?"

"Yup," Peter replied casually. "Guess I made a hash of that, too, though. Typical Bishop."

"Well, I for one am glad it didn't work," Olivia declared. "My God, Peter, do you realize the enormity of the sacrifice you made?"

"I had to save you," he said, as though it was the simplest concept in the world. "I had to save everybody. _I_ was the thing that didn't belong. I _was_ the imbalance." He kissed her hand. "I still am." He saw a faint flicker of emotion cross Olivia's face that he couldn't recognize. "Olivia? What?"

She shook her head. "It's nothing. I'll tell you about it later. Go on," she said.

"No, there's something. What's happened?" he insisted.

"Broyles just called. There's been another fringe event," she said reluctantly.

Peter stiffened. "How bad?" he asked.

"Bad. Reiden Lake refilled while a construction crew was working on landfill. The lake is, well… there's no other way to describe it but to say it's a _lake_ again."

Peter's hand went to his mouth. "Oh, God," he muttered . "Oh, my God. That's it, then."

"What? What's 'it'?"

"I was right. God, I didn't want to be right. But it's gonna be okay. This will be the last event. I'm going to fix this, hon, I swear. Walter's sure as hell not going to like it, but I know now for sure, there's something I have to do. I only hope you understand."

"What is it?" she asked gently. "What do you have to do?"

"Olivia," Peter said softly, "I have to die."

-0-0-0-0-


	16. Chapter 16

16.

Olivia awoke to the sunlight streaming through the bedroom window, and instantly cursed herself for falling asleep.

She had been terrified when Peter had calmly told her that he had to die, and that terror had manifested itself as fury. She railed at Peter, accusing him of giving up on them. She called him selfish; she called him a coward. He took the onslaught silently, with only sorrow in his eyes.

"Say something, goddammit!" she had finally commanded him.

"You're right," he'd said quietly. "I've been selfish all my life. And I've run away when things got too tough, so yeah, I'm a coward, too." He folded his arms tight against his chest, as though he were in pain. "I did the calculations, Olivia. The timing is too coincidental to ignore. My existence here has upset the balance of the universes again. And yeah, I'm selfish enough that I refuse to be the cause of your death, again."

"Peter – "

"And yeah, I'm too much of a coward to watch you die again – _and_ Walter, _and_ Astrid - if I fight this." He shook his head; only then did Olivia noticing the redness that marred his ashen cheeks. "Doesn't matter if you hate me, as long as you're alive. I can't… I just can't do it. It's not fair, I can't do it." He suddenly looked toward the window, still shaking his head. "I mean, why did it have to rain today? They didn't say it was gonna rain…"

Olivia knew there would be no more talking today, and she reached out and touched Peter's flushed face. "Shh," she soothed him as he kept shaking his head and murmuring to himself. Wrapping her arms around him and pulling him closer, she said, "It's all right. I'm sorry, Peter. I'm so sorry, I didn't mean it."

"You're right. I'm a coward," he whispered into her shoulder.

"You are _not_. I was angry, and I was scared, and I said stuff to hurt you, and I'm sorry. Don't you ever think you're a coward. Ever," she said, nearly frantic at the thought of hurting him any more than he already was.

She had spent much of the rest of the night fetching cold cloths and bathing Peter's face. He didn't say anything else to her as he fell into a fevered half-sleep; soon, exhaustion took her as well, and she fell asleep with her arms still around him.

But when she awoke, she was alone. Bolting from the bed, she ran to the bathroom, only to find it empty, the steam from the shower dissipating and a still-damp towel neatly folded on the edge of the tub. Relieved to see that Peter seemed to be feeling better, she still chided herself for falling asleep – and for lashing out at him.

She grabbed her robe and put it on as she made her way downstairs, walking quietly past Walter's closed bedroom door. She had heard him come in late from the lab during the night, no doubt going over every detail of Peter's treatment for the fiftieth time.

As she reached the bottom of the stairs, she heard voices, one of them Peter's. "Thanks for getting this done so quickly," she heard him say.

She got to the living room in time to see him shutting the front door. He turned to her, clad in plaid pajama pants and a blue t-shirt; he was holding three legal-sized envelopes in his hand. "Oh, hey, I'm sorry I woke you, hon," he said softly. "I was trying to let you sleep in after last night."

"It's okay," she said, closing the distance between them, and kissing him. As she cradled his head, she was relieved to find his fever had gone down. "I'm sorry," she whispered against his lips.

"Me too," he replied, stepping back to look at her. "For all of this." He looked down at the envelopes in his hand.

"What are those?" Olivia asked.

"Legal documents," he said calmly. Olivia's eyes widened. "Liv, I meant what I said last night. Walter can't keep trying to save me, and he won't stop unless forced to."

"Oh, Peter, you didn't," she said sadly.

"I have to get my house in order anyway… should've done a long time ago." They both heard a commotion upstairs; Walter was awake. "Olivia, please. I need you with me on this. These extreme measures have to stop. For everyone's sake." He took her hand. "I can't do this alone, Liv. Please. Help me."

"What do you need help with, son?" Walter asked as he reached the bottom of the stairs. "Are you all right?"

"Morning, Walter. Yeah, I'm okay," Peter replied, hastily dropping the envelopes on the coffee table.

Walter looked Peter over for a moment before placing his palm against his son's cheek. "Hm, a bit warm. How did you sleep last night? And I want the truth."

"Not great. Spiked a temp a little, but Olivia had it under control. Listen, Walter, I need to talk to you about something. Astrid's on her way over, too."

"Astrid? Oh, a family pow-wow, eh? Don't tell me – you have some exciting news, perhaps?" Walter waggled his eyebrows at Peter and Olivia as a knock was heard at the door.

"No, Walter, nothing like that," Olivia said, a tinge of sorrow in her voice.

Peter opened the door to a distraught-looking Astrid. "I came as soon as I got your text," she said breathlessly. "Are you all right?" She pulled Peter into a hug.

"Yup, fine, Astrid. Thanks for coming so quick," Peter said, returning the hug and placing a kiss on the top of Astrid's curly head. "C'mon, everybody, sit down, okay? I need to talk to all of you."

Astrid and Walter looked at each other quizzically as they took their seats. Astrid looked to Olivia. "Olivia?"

"I'll let Peter explain," she said quietly.

Peter sat down with Olivia and picked up the envelopes. "Okay," he said, exhaling. "I guess the best way to do this is just… to do it." He opened the first envelope. "I went to a lawyer yesterday, and had both a will and a living will drawn up."

"I guess that's smart," Astrid said, although it was clear she was upset.

Walter, to Peter's surprise, nodded in agreement. "Shortly before I went to St. Claire's – the first time, I mean – I made sure my will was up to date."

"It's pretty cut and dried," Peter added. "This – " he said, taking the last document from its envelope – "Is less so." He held it out to Walter. "I'm sorry, Walter. It's a Cessation of Treatment Order."

"W-What?" Walter stammered, taking the papers with trembling hands.

"Peter, what are you doing?" Astrid asked.

"I need you to listen to me. When I went into the Machine, I saw things that led me to the conclusion that the only way to save the universes was to build the bridge, and erase myself from the timeline."

"You erased yourself?" Astrid gasped. "But… you're here. I mean… is that why we didn't remember you for the longest time?"

Peter nodded. "Yeah. I don't know how, or why, but somehow, I was brought back. I shouldn't have been, but I was. And that's why all of this is happening – my illness, and the events." He looked at Walter. "My presence in this universe, in this timeline, has upset the balance that had been created by the Bridge. I shouldn't be here. I shouldn't exist." He took a small notebook from the envelope and placed it on the table, pushing it gently toward Walter. "I did some calculations based on the information Brandon Fayette provided Olivia with regarding the first Fringe event, and cross-referenced it to the timing of my illness and treatment. They dovetail perfectly. I'm causing these events."

"That's impossible," Walter sputtered, picking up the notebook, thumbing quickly through the pages, and tossing it back down. "Absurd. Peter, I know how tired you must be. I know this is difficult, son, but…"

"Walter," Peter interrupted gently, "I've seen impossible. This? This is untenable. We can't keep doing this. We're repeating, perpetuating, your original mistake – taking me from the other universe to save me. I honestly think that I wasn't meant to survive at all, in any universe."

"That's not true!" Walter yelled. "The Observer… he interrupted Walternate. He would've had the cure!"

"And maybe September was meant to interrupt him," Peter said calmly.

"No!" Walter argued, his voice even louder. "We fought too hard for you, made too many sacrifices! Belly worked day in and day out… "

"Walter, you're getting confused," Peter suggested.

"Wait a second. Bell?" Olivia interjected.

"What's William Bell got to do with this?" Astrid added.

Walter became quiet, realizing he'd said something he probably shouldn't have. "It's nothing," he said.

"Walter… " Peter said in an ominous voice. "What did Bell do?"

"Elizabeth was beside herself. She started blaming me, you know. Told me it was my fault… the drugs, you know. But Belly helped us. He found a way. Belly, you brilliant bastard…."

"Walter!" Peter shouted, trying to bring him back to reality. "What did Bell do?"

"He helped us make a miracle, and you're making it sound like it was something wrong!" Walter shouted defensively. "It wasn't wrong. _You_ aren't wrong. You're a _miracle_."

"Walter, that wasn't me," Peter protested. A headache was starting to flare up behind his eyes. _Not now, dammit. Not now…_

"We lost so many… so many… "

"I'm not _that_ Peter, Walter," Peter repeated.

"When Belly came up with the fertilization process, it was just… a miracle."

"Fertilization process?" Peter had already disliked where the conversation was going, but now, it took a turn for the worse.

"And we showed them! We showed them all! But those other fellows got the credit. I didn't care, I had you. But Belly wasn't pleased."

"Walter, what are you saying?" Astrid prodded him.

"Louise Joy Brown," Walter snapped at Astrid as though she were a slow child.

"Who's Louise Joy Brown?" Olivia asked.

"She's the first IVF baby," Peter said, "Born in July of '78, I think. About a month or so after… " He looked at Walter in disbelief, and his headache got even worse. "… _me_." He shook his head. "I mean, _Peter_."

"Wow," Astrid said.

"Yeah, wow," Peter agreed. "Walter, did you supervise what Bell was doing?"

"No, Belly and Nina worked on it. I thought it was better to keep a distance from it, so your mother wouldn't blame me for _that_ as well," he said, his voice dripping venom.

"Uh-huh," Peter said. "So, you have no idea what he might have done to 'create' your son, huh? Fantastic. No wonder he was a genetic mess. God only knows what your beloved Belly cooked up. And no doubt because of quantum entanglement, Walternate and Elizabeth conceived me with the same problems, too." He snorted. "Or maybe Belly was doing a little side work on his trips over there as well."

"You survived," Walter countered.

_You stole him_, the vision of Peter Bishop accused him, appearing in the doorway.

He pinched the bridge of his nose, willing the hallucination away. "Yes, _I survived_, Walter. He didn't! Listen to me. That wasn't me! That was _your_ Peter."

"You suffered the same disease! I had to save you. You're a miracle too! I would have done anything to save you."

_Anything for you_, the ghostly boy sneered.

"Yeah, you've certainly proven that," Peter snapped.

"Peter," Olivia warned.

"Ungrateful boy! You're alive, isn't that enough? " Walter bellowed.

"Not at this price, Walter! Not at the cost of _two universes_!" Peter shouted back.

"So… what? You just want to throw it away? This precious gift of life you were given? After everything I've gone through – after everything Olivia has gone through – for you…"

"Whoa, now," Peter said angrily. "You just wait a minute."

"Walter, don't do it," Olivia cautioned.

"This girl has been through hell for you. The cortexiphan… "

"That was your doing," Olivia countered.

"But _you_ suffered for it. I kept the trials going because I tried to send him back. And you suffer for him still."

"Oh, no you don't. Don't you dare use Olivia against me!" Peter shouted.

Walter wheeled on Peter. "We have done nothing but love you and try to save you, even when you didn't want to save yourself. And you're going to just cast that aside? Because of some overblown messianic delusion? Fine!" Walter rose and stormed out of the room and down the hall.

Olivia moved closer to Peter, who was visibly shaking. She hesitantly put a hand on his trembling shoulder. "Peter? Talk to me."

_He doesn't love you anymore_, the vision of Peter Bishop taunted.

"He's upset, Peter, he doesn't mean what he's saying," Astrid said reassuringly as a clatter was heard from the hall closet. "What's he doing?"

A moment later, Walter charged back into the room with a metal box in his hands. "So," he said tersely to Peter, "You want to kill yourself?"

"I don't want to kill – "

Walter put the box down on the table and threw it open. Reaching in, he pulled out a gun. "Here!" he said, slamming the weapon onto the table and shoving it toward Peter. "Don't play martyr, do it properly."

"Walter!" Astrid gasped.

"It was your grandfather's – no, wait. It was _my son's grandfather's_, since you're so keen to make the distinction. Given to him by his OSS handlers when he was a double agent. Easy to use, 22 semi-automatic. Maximum damage at minimal effort." He glared at Peter in fury. "I even loaded it for you! I'm sure my father would be thrilled that it's being put to such good use. Go on, boy – take your mother's way out."

"Walter, stop it!" Olivia shouted, enraged. "How dare you – "

They all fell silent when Peter picked up the gun. As though snapped out of a furious trance, Walter's face fell. "Oh, God… Peter… son… "

"Baby, please… " Olivia begged as he released the safety.

"Do you know how it feels to be a cosmic mistake?" Peter asked softly. "To know that if only you weren't around, all would literally be right with the universe?"

"Peter, you don't know that for sure," Astrid said pleadingly.

"Yeah, I do," Peter replied evenly, not looking at Astrid. He finally turned his gaze to Walter. "This isn't your fault, you know. It's Bell's. You just wanted a child, that's all. And he perverted that."

"How can you say that?" Walter said tearfully. "IVF children are a medical miracle. A blessing."

"I know that, but do you think he left it at that? Do you _honestly_ think _he just left it at that_?" Peter shouted. "Your son is dead. And look at me! I'm a freak. I'm death. He took something good – something _beautiful_ and amazing – and he made it something sick."

"Peter, look at me," Olivia demanded. "Look at me."

Peter turned his face to Olivia's. "I don't _want_ to die, Liv. I _have_ to." To everyone's surprise, he put the safety back on the gun. "But not like this. If the universe wants to take me out, it'll have to do it itself. I can't help it, or it won't work." He put the gun back in the box, stood and handed it to Walter. "The insurance won't pay out on a suicide anyway, and the beneficiaries need the money," he added flatly.

"Peter, I'm so – " Walter began.

"It's fine, Walter," Peter said, shutting him down. Turning to Astrid, he said, "I'm sorry you had to witness this, Astrid. I wanted you here because I love you and you're family. Well, welcome to the Bishop family dynamic," he said sadly.

Walter decided to try again. "Peter, please, I just – "

"Olivia, feel free to go over my calculations with Walter to confirm my findings. I'm… I'm sorry. I just need to lie down for awhile." Peter turned without another word and wearily made his way upstairs.

"Olivia," Astrid said, "Would you like me to take a look at those calculations with you?"

"Yeah, I'd appreciate that, Astrid, thanks," Olivia replied gratefully.

"Who knows? Maybe Peter forgot to carry the one somewhere," Astrid said with a smile. Her smile disappeared when she looked at Walter. "I don't think I've ever been so ashamed of you," she said grimly.

Olivia handed Astrid the notebook. "Let's take this to the kitchen, okay?" The two women left Walter standing alone in silence in the living room.

He looked up the stairs where Peter had gone a moment earlier. "Oh, dear God," he said, his voice breaking. "What have I done?"

-0-0-0-0-0-


	17. Chapter 17

17.

"Dammit," Olivia sighed, tossing the folder onto the kitchen table. "Everything adds up."

Astrid nodded. "Yeah, same here." She tucked some papers into the same folder sadly. "Peter's numbers are correct, based on Brandon's information. I'm so sorry, Olivia. He might be right."

"It can't end like this, Astrd. We've been through too much for it to end like this," Olivia said, rising from her chair. "I'm gonna go check on Peter, okay?"

"Sure, I'll let myself out," Astrid said, standing as well. "Listen, if you'd like, I could get in touch with Brandon and see if he'll let me take a look at his original work notes. Peter may have done all the calculations correctly, but maybe Brandon missed something in his initial research."

"We're grasping at straws, aren't we?" Olivia asked.

"Maybe, but if there's a straw out there with Peter's name on it, I say we keep grasping," the petite agent smiled. "I'll drive over there tomorrow. You take care of your man, and give him a hug for me."

As Astrid grabbed her coat and headed toward the door, she noticed that Walter hadn't moved from the spot he'd been standing in half an hour before. She wanted to reach out to him, but she couldn't forget the scene earlier. "I'm leaving, Walter," she said briskly.

"What am I going to do, Astrid?" Walter asked her tearfully.

"I don't know," she admitted. "But Peter deserves better than what I saw from you today."

As the door closed behind Astrid, Walter could only mutter, "I'm sorry."

-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-

Nina Sharp was in the sub-basement of Massive Dynamic when her cell phone rang. "Nina Sharp," she said crisply. No one replied, but she heard the sound of sobbing on the other end. "Walter? Walter, is that you? Are you all right?"

"Oh, Nina, what have I done?" Walter's voice choked out.

"Walter, calm down, and tell me what's wrong. Is Peter all right?" She looked at the computer screen before her and frowned. _I'm too late_, she thought.

"Astrid is so angry with me. Peter. He's… he's…"

"Walter!" Nina snapped.

She heard a deep intake of breath. "No, Peter is not all right. I think his illness has mutated again. He's upstairs in bed. He's running a fever of 102, Olivia says."

"Olivia says? Walter, why haven't you checked on him yourself?"

"I can't," Walter sobbed. "I can't face him. What I said… what I did… but he shouldn't have given me those infernal papers, Nina! I will not be told that I can't try and save my child! Not by the law, not by God Himself!"

"Walter, I have no idea what you're talking about. Slow down. What papers did Peter give you?"

"A Cessation of Treatment order."

The words hit Nina like a slap. "Dear God. Why would he do that?"

"He's convinced he's responsible for the incidents that are happening," Walter said dejectedly.

"You mean Reiden Lake? How could that be?"

"He did the calculations based on Brandon's notes, and… "

"_Brandon's_ notes?" Nina interrupted.

"Yes, of course. Why?"

Nina sighed, and shook her head. Her decision was made. "Never mind, Walter. Listen to me. You need to talk to Peter. You must convince him to accept one last treatment. I have an idea."

"You do? What is it?"

"Give me twenty-four hours to do a little research, and I'll let you know if my idea is feasible, all right? I'll explain… everything," she said hesitantly. "Talk to your son, Walter." She hung up before he could reply.

Taking a deep breath, and letting it out slowly to calm herself, she typed the access code on the keyboard.

The monitor blinked, then a word appeared: **PASSWORD**?

Nina typed: **ThereIsNoGodButScience**

**PASSWORD ACCEPTED. WELCOME, BELL_NINA1. PETER PROJECT LEVEL 1A INITIATED. ACTIVATE SUBJECT? Y/N**

Her finger hovered over the keyboard briefly before she typed: **Y**

**ACTIVATION STATUS?**

She typed: **DORMANT**

**STATUS NOT RECOGNIZED. INITIATING DEFAULT STATUS SENTIENT.**

"No!" Nina yelled aloud at the computer.

The monitor flickered again, and Bell's face appeared. "You didn't think it would be that easy with this one, did you? Peter Zero isn't any other subject, Nina. There is only one way to handle it. The subject must be sentient. It is perfection, and perfection must be experienced at its fullest capacity. I'm sorry, my darling Nina. Pandora's box must be completely open, not left ajar. Enjoy." His face faded from the screen.

"Bastard," Nina hissed. "Twisted, manipulative bastard!" She swept the monitor off the table angrily; it crashed to the floor.

"Who?" a voice said behind her.

Nina whirled around in her fury, to see that one of the glass-coffin-like pods had opened; a young man in scrubs sat up and blinked at her in confusion. "Peter?" Nina whispered, stunned.

The young man was the image of Peter Bishop, perhaps a few years younger, but there was something completely alien about him to Nina. His face was smooth, his skin like a child's; the tiny lines at the corners of Peter's eyes when he smiled didn't exist on this face, nor did the small scars on Peter's right cheek.

"Peter," the young man repeated. "That's me." He smiled. "That's me." Swinging his legs off the table, he got to his feet, bending his knees slightly as though testing them. "Hi," he greeted Nina.

A wistful smile crossed Nina's face as memories of the little boy who would hide behind his mommy's legs when he met strangers flooded her mind. The innocence she saw in Peter Zero's face took her breath away, and filled her with guilt. "Hello," she said. "My name is – "

"Nina," the young man finished with another sweet smile. "I know." At her quizzical expression, he added, "I've been programmed with basic information on the familial and emotional bonds of Peter Albert Bishop. Born June 11, 1978."

"Programmed?" Nina said incredulously. "How?"

"Genetically and chemically modified B-lymphocyte memory cells extracted from the umbilical cord of Peter Albert Bishop at birth. You're Nina Sharp. I was created by William Bell. My biological sources are Walter Bishop and Elizabeth McKenna Bishop."

"That's amazing," Nina replied.

"I'm not allergic to dogs. Peter Albert Bishop is allergic to dogs."

"Yes, he is," Nina agreed. "From what I hear, you're not allergic to anything."

"Not that I know of. It's too bad he's allergic to dogs."

"I suppose it is, yes. Your knowledge base is extraordinary. How do you know so much? Your B-lymphocytes were transfused from an infant."

Peter Zero's brow furrowed, Peter's signature crease barely noticeable in this pristine face. "I don't know. Why _do_ I know these things?"

Nina walked over to him. "I'm not sure yet. You're quite the mystery to me. But let's not worry about that right now, all right? I need to ask you a very big favor."

"Anything," Peter Zero immediately replied.

"You're Peter Bishop, all right. Help first, ask questions later," she chuckled.

"I'd like to go outside, please," Peter Zero suddenly asked, looking around the lab nervously.

"That's not a good idea," Nina answered immediately. "Peter – " She stopped, the name sounding strange to her ears. This wasn't Peter Bishop, at least not the Peter she had known all these years. Of course, the Peter she now knew wasn't the little boy who had called her Aunt so many years ago, either. Shaking off the confusion, she continued, "Peter, I need you to focus. I have a favor to ask you, remember?"

"Yes, I remember. What can I do?"

"There's someone who needs your help. Someone I care about very much, and I think you're the only one who can help him." She watched as Peter Zero looked around the room, then closed his eyes briefly. "Peter, sweetheart, I need you to pay attention, please."

"He's sick," he said matter-of-factly as he opened his eyes.

Taken aback, Nina said, "Yes. Yes he is. Do you know who I'm talking about?"

"Peter Albert Bishop." At her surprised expression, he shrugged. "Who else would you wake me up for?"

Nina chuckled. "I suppose that's true. You're a very astute young man."

"Not really. Simple if-then formula."

"I guess that's true. Peter is very sick, and he needs a transfusion – perhaps a bone marrow transplant – from you to survive. Would you be willing to do that for him?"

"Of course. May I go outside, please?"

"No, I'm sorry. It's really not a good idea," Nina said apologetically.

Peter Zero frowned. "Why not?"

"Why not? So many reasons," Nina groaned. "Peter Bishop is at home right now. If 'he' suddenly shows up here at Massive Dynamic, people will ask questions."

"Then lie," Peter Zero replied.

"What?"

"Lie," he repeated simply. "Tell them they're not seeing what they're seeing. It works. It worked on Peter Albert Bishop, didn't it?"

"How do you… never mind. I'm sorry, Peter, but I simply cannot allow you outside the lab."

Peter Zero looked at her blankly for a moment, then smiled. "Okay. Whatever you think is best. Could I at least have some real clothes?" He looked down at the blue scrubs and his bare feet. "I haven't had a change of clothes in… _forever_."

Nina laughed. "I suppose that would be all right. I think we have some of Peter's things upstairs in the infirmary."

"Fantastic. Let's go get them then!" Peter Zero said enthusiastically.

"Oh, no you don't. Didn't I just say you were not to leave this lab?" Peter looked at her sheepishly. "Nice try, kiddo," she said with a wry grin. "I'll be right back."

As she turned to go, he called, "Nina?"

"Yes?" She said, turning back toward him.

"Thank you. It's good to have a purpose. This is what I was created for."

"You're… you're quite welcome, dear. And thank you, for understanding." She pressed the pass code into the keypad on the door panel, and left Peter Zero standing next to his glass chamber.

When she came back fifteen minutes later, he was gone.

-0-0-0-0-0-0-


	18. Chapter 18

18.

His mind was reeling as he stepped out of the elevator. The lights were too bright, the voices of the people around were too loud, and everything seemed to be moving twice as fast as he was.

But for some reason, everything looked familiar to him. _Impossible_, Peter Zero thought to himself as he looked up at the clock on the wall in Massive Dynamic's lobby; he had been activated for just half an hour, but he _knew_ this place. He knew that you turned right out of the elevator to get to the security desk. He knew the guard on duty was named Kevin. The phrase, "Bong Buddy," sprang to mind, but Peter Zero shook it away as completely nonsensical.

It had been surprisingly easy to get out of the sub-basement; he watched Nina punch in the password on the security lock, and it was the same to gain access to the elevator up. _Shoddy security_, he thought to himself – but then again, nobody was really supposed to know that place existed, so he guessed they wouldn't be too concerned with redundancy.

He had taken the elevator up to 25, which he knew was the infirmary floor without knowing _why_ he knew it was the infirmary floor. Looking around to make sure he wouldn't run into Nina, he spied the doctors' lounge and locker rooms and ducked inside.

He heard the shower running in the next room, and saw a neatly folded pile of clothes on a bench, with a backpack and sneakers on the floor next to it. Peter Zero sat on the bench, picked up the sneakers and sized them up. A half-size too small, perhaps, but they'd do. He then picked up the backpack, and rifled through its contents. He pulled out a windbreaker, a small pad, and a pen; frowning, he began to write.

When the unfortunate doctor returned to the locker from his shower, he found his shoes and jacket were gone, and a small note sitting atop the backpack:

_I'm very sorry. I'll bring them back. Thank you._

-0-0-0-0-0-0-

Kevin Sanchez was bellowing into the telephone when the elevator doors opened, and Peter Bishop emerged, wearing scrubs, sneakers and a windbreaker. "Dude, we'll finish this later," he said sharply, cutting the conversation short. "Hey, Peter!" he greeted the confused-looking younger Bishop. "I thought we sent you home – you okay?"

Peter Zero walked over to the portly young man. "I'm okay. Thanks, Kevin. I just… " He looked again at the clock. "I didn't realize what time it was. I was doing some research upstairs, and I lost track of the time."

"Time flies when you're having fun, huh, dude? Never could wrap my brain around all that egghead stuff you guys do. I'll let you be the brains, I'll provide the brawn," Kevin smiled. He saw Peter Zero's agitation. "Hey, you sure you're all right? You look a little overwhelmed."

"No, no, I'm fine. Still not quite 100%, I suppose."

"Yeah, I can tell by your choice of attire," Kevin joked, gesturing to the scrubs, jacket and sneakers. "Agent Dunham let you out like that?"

"Oh! I… I spilled some chemicals upstairs. Don't worry, nothing toxic or flammable, just the kind that really stink up your clothes. One of the guys upstairs gave me a pair of scrubs and lent me his jacket and shoes," Peter Zero replied sheepishly.

"Well, you're not exactly ready for your close-up, but so what? All the same to me. You catching a lift?"

"Uh… no. Olivia and Walter are busy right now. I told them I'd be okay by myself. You know how they can get," he lied.

"A little overprotective, huh? Yeah, I feel ya. But they're just worried about you, dude. They love you, y'know?"

Peter Zero smiled wistfully. He wondered what that felt like. "Yes, I know."

"So, how you getting home? You need me to get a car for you to the airport?"

"Airport?" Peter Zero said, panicked. _Of course, idiot_, he thought to himself. _You're in New York. Home is in Boston_. "I… uh… " he stammered.

Kevin put a calming hand on his shoulder. "Hey, it's okay, no problem. Hang on a sec." He picked up the phone and pushed a few buttons. "Yeah, Bob? It's Kevin Sanchez. Fuel up the chopper, will ya? Mr. Bishop the Younger needs a lift." He nodded as though the person on the other end could see him, making Peter Zero smile again. "Yeah, cool. Fine. Thanks." He hung up the phone. "Bob'll be up on the roof in about twenty. He'll take you anywhere you want to go. You want me to call Dr. Bishop or Agent Dunham for you?"

"No, that's all right. I'll call them myself."

"Okay, works for me. You remember the drill? The last elevator over there – " He pointed to a bank of elevators across the lobby – "Just give it your thumbprint on the pad, and it'll take you right up."

Peter Zero looked from Kevin to the elevator. "Right. Sure. Okay." He took another step toward Kevin and put his arms around him. "Thanks, dude," he said, then turned and walked happily toward the elevator.

Kevin shook his head. "What the hell did they put in his meds?"

-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-

The helicopter pilot yelled greetings over the sound of the rotors. "Mr. Bishop! A pleasure! Watch your head, and jump in." Peter Zero settled himself into the passenger seat of the helicopter, buckled himself in, and put on the headphones sitting next to the seat. As the pilot lifted the chopper smoothly off the rooftop of Massive Dynamic, he said, "So, where to, Mr. Bishop?"

"Boston, please?" Peter Zero said serenely, gazing out at the skyline growing smaller below him.

The pilot, Bob, glanced briefly at his passenger. "If you don't mind my saying so, sir, you look a lot better than the last time I saw you. I'm glad to see it. You feeling better?"

"I am." Peter Zero replied. "I'm going home."

-0-0-0-0-0-0-

Walter finished his fourth joint and stumbled into the kitchen in search of snacks. He had checked on Peter briefly between his first and second; he was sleeping fitfully, his back to Walter, but didn't seem to be in distress, so Walter left him alone.

_Coward_, Walter scolded himself. He knew it wouldn't have taken much to wake Peter long enough to apologize, but he couldn't bring himself to do it. The shame of what had transpired between them hung heavier in the air around him than the cloud of marijuana he had generated. He thought he'd progressed beyond the anger he had displayed toward his son; he thought that madness had abated, and it frightened him that that rage still lived within him.

Scrabbling around in the refrigerator for something to satisfy his rampant munchies, he began to sing. "_Van Amburgh is the man, who goes to all the shows, - - - who goes to all of the shows, he steps right into the lion's cage…"_

He was too engrossed in his tune, too desperate for something to eat, and generally too stoned to hear Peter come down the stairs. Peter, his eyes glazed with fever, swayed on his feet in the living room, his eyes focused on the phantom in front of him.

FutureOlivia, the bullet hole in her forehead still oozing blood, smiled ghoulishly at him from her spot by the coffee table. "Second thoughts?" she teased as her gaze moved from Peter to the box still on the table. "Don't fake it, Peter. Don't pretend to be someone you're not. Noble deaths aren't for men like you. Just ask the Coltan miners. I'm sure they'd be glad to offer an opinion."

"_The hyena in the next cage, most terrible to relate, got awfully hungry the other night... and ate up his female mate..."_ Walter's voiced wafted from the kitchen.

"I… I've changed since then," Peter defended weakly.

"Malta," the vision snapped, taking a step toward him. He stepped back. "Iraq. Tennessee. Marseilles… "

"Stop," Peter whispered, broken. "Please, stop."

"_You_ make it stop," the wraith demanded. "She deserves better. They all do."

"_He's a most ferocious beast, don't go near him, little boys, for when he's mad, he swings his tail... and makes an awful noise…"_

"Go on," it said seductively. "Spare them watching you die. Do something right this time."

"_The Kangaroos are jumping, and rattling the cage door… Look out ye little boys, for the lion's going to roar…"_

Peter picked up the box from the table and clutched it to his chest as the ghost of Future Olivia smiled.

As Walter shut the refrigerator door in his haze, he thought he heard one of the hall stairs squeak. "Hello?" he slurred, staggering into the living room. "Peter?" he called. "Huh," he said, seeing the room empty. "No more Brown Betty for you, Doctor Walter," he said in a sing-song voice, practically falling onto the couch with his half-gallon of strawberry ice cream. As he dug in, he mumbled, "Comfort food… I need a little comforting…"


	19. Chapter 19

_Sorry for the long wait! And a big hug as always to DixieGirl, best Beta in the land!_

19.

Brandon Fayette leaned back in his lab chair, feet crossed on the desk, and surveyed his workspace. Company was coming, and he wanted everything to be neat and tidy. "Tidiness is the sign of an orderly mind, Brandon," the Secretary always told him.

He wondered what the Secretary was doing now; he hated being so cut off from his own universe, and could only hope that one day, he would be able to return. His communication with his home world had been narrowed to the typewriter stashed away in the bottom drawer of his desk since the bridge closed, and every day, he took it out and waited for word from the other side that a way was found to get him home.

No luck so far, but he had to admit, he was rather enjoying the game he was playing, at least until his latest message. He had just had a very enjoyable day mutating Peter Bishop's DNA for the first time, when he'd heard the telltale ding of the return carriage chime from the drawer. When he'd taken out the typewriter, he read the message:

_Change of plan. Extraction plan being devised; save one sample for return. The Secretary misses his son._

Brandon was furious. The Secretary had made it very clear when he had been charged with this task: he was to find the cloning program and destroy it. The Secretary had admitted to Brandon that, in his grief following his son's disappearance, he had begun a cloning program in the hope of re-creating what he had lost. However, after a number of failures, the Secretary had decided it was God's way of telling him to stop. He had no doubt, though, that the hubris of his counterpart on this side would not allow Walter Bishop to quit, and that a cloning project was still active. "That cannot be allowed, Fayette," the Secretary had said sternly. "That man… that monster… has manipulated and warped my son enough. He cannot be allowed to play God on such an epic scale."

So, Brandon was tasked with destroying the Peter Project. He didn't tell the Secretary that Walter Bishop knew nothing about it, and that it was actually William Bell's baby, so to speak. Why ruin a good case of resentment and hatred with the truth? Besides, Brandon worshipped the Secretary, and imagined that perhaps, with this task accomplished, he could cement his place next to the Secretary as surrogate son.

That dream was crushed with that last communiqué. _The Secretary misses his son_… Brandon picked up the nearest coffee mug and threw it against the wall. He was more of a son to the Secretary than that arrogant, smirking pinup could ever hope to be. He and the Secretary shared a vision; what did Peter Bishop have in common with a great man like that, other than a few strands of DNA? Brandon had decided to ignore the last communiqué, and pretend, if he ever did get back home, that he'd never received it. The Secretary deserved better than a copy of some stranger who had turned his back on him. He deserved a successor.

He was about to clean up the broken mug from the floor when he heard a knock on the office door. "Brandon, it's Olivia Dunham, are you busy?"

"Uh… " he said as the door opened.

"Hi," Olivia said, appearing in the doorway. "I'm sorry, am I interrupting something?"

"No, no," he said nervously. "I just dropped a coffee mug on the floor. Got distracted. Hi, Agent Dunham." He looked behind Olivia to see Astrid Farnsworth standing there. "And Agent Farnsworth! It's nice to see you!"

"Hi, Brandon," Astrid said pleasantly.

"Um, what can I do for you today? Is everything okay? How's Peter?" he rambled.

"Peter's… " Olivia sighed. "He's not doing very well, Brandon. This latest treatment doesn't seem to be working, either."

Brandon gave Olivia his most sympathetic look. "I'm so sorry. I… I feel kind of responsible, ya know? Dr. Bishop has put such trust in me, and I'm doing everything I can to help."

"I know, and thank you, if I haven't said it before. I don't know what Walter would do without you. Peter's usually the only one smart enough to help him with this kind of thing."

"Yeah," Brandon said, trying to hide his disgust. "Dr. Bishop must miss having another genius to bounce ideas off."

"You're pretty smart yourself," Astrid said mildly. Brandon wanted to hit her.

"Thanks, but I'm no Peter Bishop," he replied.

"Brandon, I was wondering if I could take a look at your notes regarding Peter's treatment," Olivia said.

"My notes? I gave you everything I had already," Brandon replied, concerned.

"Yes, I know, and thanks for that, but I was wondering if maybe you could give me your work notes as well… you know, the stuff you used to formulate your conclusions. Peter took a look, and I think he may have reached some different conclusions, and I wanted to show him your work notes. Would that be okay?"

"Well, I don't normally share my work notes with people… I do everything long-hand, and sometimes I doodle in the margins, write silly stuff, ya know? Just to clear my head," Brandon hedged.

"I promise, no artistic judgments will be made on your doodles," Astrid said flatly. "So, may we see them, please?"

Olivia looked at Astrid curiously. She seemed ill at ease with Brandon, and Olivia wondered why. He seemed harmless enough. "It would really put my mind at ease. Peter's, too," she added to Astrid's request.

"Of course, anything to help," Brandon replied, opening a desk drawer and withdrawing a large spiral notebook. He stepped forward to hand it to Olivia, but was intercepted by Astrid. "Uh… here you go," he stammered.

"Thank you, Brandon," Astrid said crisply.

"Yes, thanks, Brandon. I'll get these back to you as soon as I can," Olivia echoed.

"Of course, take your time, those were just my preliminaries." With a nod and some exchanged pleasantries, Astrid and Olivia left. Brandon settled back into his chair with a feeling of smug satisfaction. They could check every note they liked; they'd never find where he'd changed the numbers. Nobody could.

A few moments later, a knock came at the door. Before he could say anything, it opened, and Thomas Jerome Newton breezed in. "Was that Agent Dunham I saw in the hallway a few minutes ago?"

Slightly panicked, Brandon said, "She didn't see you, did she?"

"Yes, I walked up to her and asked her for the time," Newton replied sarcastically.

"Knowing you, that's not outside the realm of possibility," Brandon snapped back.

"What did she and the lovely Agent Farnsworth want, anyway?" he asked, taking a seat behind Brandon's desk, and putting his feet up.

"Hey!" Brandon yelped, slapping at Newton's loafer-clad feet. "They just wanted to see my work notes for Bishop's treatments."

Newton suddenly sat upright. "Oh, really? Did you give them to her?"

"Sure, why not? They won't be able to figure anything out from them. I hid my work very well," the scientist replied defensively.

"Not well enough for Olivia Dunham. You do know she has an eidetic memory, don't you?"

"So?"

Newton sighed. "Brandon, you really are a twit."

-0-0-0-0-0-

Astrid turned the key in the ignition as Olivia opened Brandon's notebook. "Won't it be easier to get started on that back at the lab, or home?" she asked Olivia, who was already deeply immersed in reading. "Olivia?" She shook her head. "Never mind," she chuckled, pulling smoothly out of the parking space.

They were halfway to the airport, when the silence was broken by Olivia's soft gasp. "Oh, my God, Astrid."

"What?" Astrid said. "What's wrong? Do you need me to pull over?"

"No! Not at all. We need to get back to Massive Dynamic. Brandon's numbers were wrong."

"What?" Astrid said, casting a quick glance at Olivia. "How do you know?"

"On page 14," Olivia began, breathlessly. "This first column of numbers is the same as his final notes, but right here – " She tapped a number in the second column, half-way down the page – "This number is a digit off. Astrid, this could mean that the events began _before_ Peter's treatments!"

"Wow," Astrid breathed, finding the nearest U-turn and using it. "You're right, we need to talk to Brandon."

-0-0-0-0-0-

Walter lay on the sofa in a stupor, barely lifting his head when the front door opened. He cocked his head slightly at the young man standing before him. "Peter?"

Peter Zero looked at Walter for a moment, so many thoughts running through his head. Was this man his father? What did the word, "father," really mean to someone like him? He saw vague images in his mind – a coin dancing between his fingers, holding someone's hand that looked liked this man, a birthday party in what seemed to be a laboratory, and… a cow?

"Hello, Walter," Peter Zero said simply.

"Oh, Peter," Walter suddenly sobbed, gathering himself unsteadily to an upright position. "Oh, son, I'm so sorry… so sorry… " He reached a trembling hand out to Peter Zero, who took it in his own.

"It's all right, Walter. Don't worry about that now, okay?" He patted Walter's hand, staring at its weathered lines and wrinkles. How much life these hands had seen… how many people had been touched, for good or ill.

He looked toward the stairs, an uneasy feeling sweeping over him. "We'll talk later, Walter. Everything's going to be okay. I'm just going upstairs."

"I thought you already _were_ upstairs," Walter mumbled crossly as he stretched back out on the couch.

Peter Zero climbed the stairs, knowing exactly where he was going. Something was wrong. He stopped when he reached the attic room, gazing at the door briefly before opening it without knocking.

When he saw the gun in Peter Bishop's hand, he should have, by all rights, been afraid. But he wasn't. He knew he'd be fine – it was the man on the bed who was in danger. "Don't," Peter Zero said quietly.

"Don't know what else _to_ do," Peter replied, not looking up. "One last act of heroism," he snorted derisively, then reached up to wipe sweat from his forehead with the same hand that held the gun. "Big damn hero."

"Peter." Peter Zero took a step toward him.

Peter looked up and gasped, jumping up and scrambling away from the young man with his face. Swinging the gun up to point it at Peter Zero, he rasped, "Not real. You're not real."

Holding his hands up in supplication, Peter Zero calmly replied, "I am real. I promise you, I'm real. And I'm here to help."

Peter shook his head. "No. You're in my head. Why… _what_ are you?"

"I'm a genetically modified and enhanced DNA replication of Peter Albert Bishop. You."

"No, not me. _Him_," Peter corrected.

"Potato, po-tah-to," Peter Zero said, smiling. "You and the Peter Albert Bishop of this universe are genetically identical. I am him. And I am you."

"And we are all together, _goo-goo-goo-joob_," Peter added, laughing a bit hysterically. At Peter Zero's quizzical expression, he said, "Never mind."

"Please put the gun down, and listen to me," Peter Zero pleaded. "Your father is downstairs. You wouldn't want him to find you with your head blown off, would you?"

"You kidding? He gave me the gun." Peter sat back down on the bed heavily. "But I don't know if I can. It… it doesn't seem right. It's not the natural way. Dunno if it'll work if I don't do it the natural way."

"Do what?"

"Die," Peter said simply. "You think it'd still work? Would the universe right itself anyway?"

"I don't know the answer to that. But are you sure you have to die at all? I can help you. I can save you, I think."

"No, no. The balance is off. The calculations said so," Peter said stubbornly.

"People make mistakes all the time," Peter Zero replied. "You're going to kill yourself over some scribblings on a piece of paper? That's kind of stupid, if you don't mind my saying. Since when do you trust everybody?"

Peter shrugged, the gun – safety on – in his lap. "I trust Olivia."

"And what does Olivia say about the calculations?"

"I heard her talking to Astrid about checking Brandon's preliminary notes before I came upstairs."

"Well, there you are!" Peter Zero said brightly. "I think you can wait a bit longer, then." He looked toward the window for a moment, then turned back to Peter. "It's going to rain tomorrow. That'd be a perfect day to blow your brains out if Olivia confirms the calculations. It's much too nice outside today."

Peter looked at his doppelganger for a moment, his expression blank. "Wow, I'm weird," he mumbled as he placed the gun back in its box.


	20. Chapter 20

20.

After putting Robert Bischoff's gun back securely in its locked box, he watched as Peter lay back on the bed, muttering, "Just too damned weird," to himself. He was asleep within seconds, so Peter Zero took the free time to go to the bathroom down the hall and wet a washcloth, returning to put it on Peter's forehead. When he stirred briefly, Peter Zero managed to give him two analgesics and some water before he fell asleep again.

Peter's fever wasn't too high at that point, but Peter Zero knew it was just a matter of hours before Walter's last treatment would completely fail. There wasn't much time to waste. He looked out the window of Peter's room in time to see Nina Sharp emerge from her limousine. "Time's up," he said to himself, and turned to the sleeping figure in the bed. He bent over and gently shook Peter's shoulder. "Peter, wake up. Come on, we have to go." Peter's eyes opened groggily. "Hi, how are you feeling?"

Squinting briefly at his doppelganger, Peter rubbed his eyes and said, "Well, considering I'm still talking to myself, I must be pretty bad off."

Chuckling, Peter Zero helped Peter sit up. "You're not as bad off as you think," he said softly. "Can you stand? We have to leave."

"We?" Peter asked incredulously as he scrubbed a hand though his hair and stood up, fairly steadily. "Sure, why not? Lead the way, Me."

Downstairs, Walter was disappointed to discover that his high was wearing off. As he was deciding whether to light up again, he was hit with a pang of guilt, remembering that Peter had come downstairs for something, and he didn't do anything to help him. At least, he thought Peter had come downstairs – it actually seemed as if he'd come through the front door, but that couldn't have been possible.

He jumped a bit when the doorbell rang. Wringing his hands, he stared at the door as though it were his enemy, until Peter's strong, clear voice rang out from upstairs – "Walter! Door! You need to get that, it's important!" Peter's voice hadn't sounded that strong in weeks; maybe the treatment was working.

He got up woozily, and went to the door, opening it to Nina's worried face. "Walter, we need to talk," Nina said hurriedly. She sat down on the couch, beckoning Walter to join her. "There's something I need to tell you," she began as he joined her on the couch. "Something… unsettling. I don't even know where to – Walter, are you _high_?"

Walter gave an indignant snort, and said, "Only a little!"

Rolling her eyes, Nina continued. "Walter, I need you to focus. You have to listen to me. I believe Brandon Fayette has been compromising your treatment program for Peter. He has been genetically manipulating the serums to cause them to fail." Walter stared blankly at her. "Walter!" she snapped. "Are you listening to me?"

"Why?" Walter said softly. "Why would he do such a thing to my son?"

"Because he's not _our_ Brandon. He's the Brandon from the other universe. Walternate left him here to sabotage your work… and quite possibly to harm Peter."

"That… that monster!" Walter roared, suddenly feeling quite sober. "If he can't have Peter, it would seem he doesn't want anyone to have him. Typical melodrama from the likes of him. But, where is our Brandon?"

"I don't know, Walter," Nina said sadly.

"How did you discover this, Nina? And how is Brandon genetically manipulating my work? It's not as though he would have DNA or tissue from another version of Peter to use. Peter's unique." It was Nina's turn to stare blankly, unspeaking. "Nina?"

"Walter, there _are_ other…"

She was interrupted by the sound of heavy, unsteady footsteps coming down the stairs. "Good, you're here," Peter Zero said, Peter's arm slung over his shoulder as they made their way downstairs. "We really need to get going. He's getting worse."

Walter turned toward them. "Who's getting – " Walter froze in shock at the sight before him. "Oh, dear God… Peter?"

Peter raised his head and looked from his father to the young man supporting him on the stairs. "Wait… you _see_ him?"

Nina rushed over to the identical men. "Here, let me help. Let's get you comfortable." She took her place on Peter's other side, and together, she and Peter Zero guided him to the sofa, where he sank down gratefully with a sigh. "Walter, this is what I wanted to talk to you about. This is… "

"My classification is Peter Zero," Peter Zero chimed in with a smile. "Hello, Walter. Again."

"Okay, wait a second," Peter said fuzzily. "You actually _see_ this guy?"

"Of course they do," Peter Zero said. "You weren't really talking to yourself, you know," he chided, speaking as though to a slow child.

Walter, still frozen in place, suddenly waved a shaking hand at Peter Zero. "What _are_ you? Haven't I suffered enough? Haven't I done enough to atone for my sins?" he shouted.

Peter Zero looked over at Peter, who simply shook his head. "Don't mind him, he always thinks he's being punished."

"As I said, Walter," Peter Zero began, "My designation is Peter Zero. I am a genetically modified, enhanced replication of Peter Albert Bishop. Unlike my… brothers, for want of a better word, I was replicated with no mutations of biochemical flaws."

Peter looked at him sadly. "You _are_ me, only… better. Obviously," he added with a slight hint of bitterness as he gazed at this seemingly younger, healthier version himself. "But replicated by whom?"

"Bellie," Walter spat. "It had to be Bellie… and _you_." He spun, now pointing his accusing finger at Nina. "What did you do?" he hissed.

"It wasn't me, Walter. It was William's idea. I had no idea he'd done anything until Peter's second birthday," Nina defended.

"His second birthday!" Walter laughed bitterly. "Oh, as recently as that? Well, then… You cloned my son, you barren, heartless… "

"I did not clone your son!" Nina shouted back. "William and I _gave you_ your son! How many times did you and Elizabeth try, Walter? How many miscarriages? She couldn't carry a fetus that was fertilized the natural way! And whose fault was that, do you think? We perfected in vitro fertilization, and we did it for _you_! You wouldn't even have a child if it weren't for us! I had no knowledge about this when it was happening. None."

"You knew later, though," Walter growled. "How could you lie like that? How could you keep this… abomination from me?"

Peter Zero stepped back, his shoulders slumped.

"Shut up, Walter," Peter snapped suddenly. "Don't you dare call him that. Don't you fucking dare." He got to his feet. "The very idea of you getting on your high horse about someone lying to you… you do not want to go there, do you hear me? And you think he's an abomination? Well, guess what, Dad? If he's an abomination, then so am I. I'm the guy who's not supposed to exist in this universe. I erased myself, remember?"

"You did? Wow," Peter Zero said, fascinated.

"A story for another time," Peter replied. "Nina, tell us. Everything."

"It… " Nina looked briefly at Peter Zero, who nodded encouragingly. "It was called the Peter Project. William always said it was fitting that Walter and Elizabeth named their son Peter, because the DNA William used to create these versions would be the rock upon which science would create a better humanity." She watched Peter sit back down weakly, and Peter Zero join him on the couch.

"When Elizabeth was inseminated, the fertilized egg had been… enhanced."

"Enhanced," Peter muttered. "Meaning you messed with the DNA structure."

Nina nodded. "Yes. I don't know whether your parents underwent the same fertility treatments, but William said that the Peter from this universe would have an increased IQ." She frowned. "Unfortunately, with these enhancements came genetic instability. Anomalies and mutations that made him susceptible to rare and unusual diseases, or that caused illnesses themselves. Like you're experiencing now. I can't help but believe that somehow, William's experiments here were duplicated by Walternate over there."

"Is it possible that Bell made it over there to perform the same experiments with my parents?" Peter asked.

"He did disappear for weeks, months at a time, with no explanation," Walter said bitterly.

"It's possible, I suppose." Nina paused to wipe a tear from the corner of her eye. "I swear to you, Peter, on my soul, I didn't know this would happen. And I didn't know about the Peter project until his second birthday. William took me to his lab in the sub-basement at Massive Dynamic. That's where the Peters are housed."

"How many?" Walter said through gritted teeth. "HOW MANY?"

"Fifteen, possibly twenty. But this young man... " She pointed at Peter Zero and smiled fondly. "This is Peter Zero. He's perfect, Walter. Genetically sound, and possibly even immune to any kind of infection."

Peter weakly held his open hand up to Peter Zero. "Nice. Good for you," he said. "High five." When Peter Zero looked at him oddly, he said, "Just go with it." Peter Zero mimicked his gesture, and Peter gently slapped his hand. "So, how come he's here now?" Looking back at Peter Zero, he added, "Sorry, I shouldn't talk about you like you're not here."

"That's okay," Peter Zero said, "She knows all this better than I do anyway."

"I hate to break up your conversation," Walter barked, "But what are we supposed to do with this copy of my son?"

"Hey," Peter snapped at Walter again, "_I'm_ a copy of _your_ son."

The statement hit Walter like a slap in the face. "Oh, dear God… Oh, Peter… I'm so sorry…"

"Just stop, okay? Stop taking your anger out on him. He's innocent of all of this."

"You're absolutely right, son." Walter turned to Peter Zero. "I'm sorry, young man."

"Apology accepted, Walter," Peter Zero said kindly.

"The person who deserves my ire is standing right here," Walter said, his voice icy calm. "You have twisted something miraculous for your own nefarious purposes. How could you?"

"How could I? Walter, Peter Zero's very existence could save Peter. I would hardly call this a nefarious purpose," Nina scolded him.

"Don't you do that!" Walter erupted again. "Don't manipulate the truth like that! Don't try to make this into something good – you and Bellie stole from us, from Peter, and created clones."

"Yes, _he_ did, Walter. And it was wrong of him. Terribly wrong. But listen to me. Peter Zero could help save Peter's life. If we take bone marrow from him, we could synthesize a cure. A real cure – one that is a 100% genetic match. It could literally reboot his DNA sequence."

"No, you can't," Peter protested. "The fringe events… they're happening because I'm alive. I was supposed to stay gone. Erased. But now, I'm here, and any time Walter tries to save me, something horrible happens. I can't let this go on, Nina."

"You're basing this theory of yours on what, Peter?" Nina asked.

"The notes," Peter replied, exasperated at having to explain himself yet again. "Olivia gave me Brandon's notes."

Nina and Walter exchanged knowing looks. "Peter," Nina said cautiously, "Those notes may not be entirely accurate."

"Not entirely accurate," Peter repeated. "What the hell does that mean?"

"Dr. Fayette has been using my brothers to hurt you," Peter Zero said sadly.

"Your… wait," Peter said, "Have other versions been… whaddya call it… "

"Activated? Yes, in a way. But they're dead," Peter Zero replied matter-of-factly. "I don't like Dr. Fayette. I'm glad Nina Sharp activated me instead."

Peter turned to Nina. "You activated him? Why did you do that?"

"Because I care about you, and I don't want you to die. It's as simple as that," Nina said softly. "But I think Brandon may have activated the others to manipulate Walter's formulas for your treatments. Walter, who mixed the final serums?"

"Brandon," Walter said immediately. His expression turned to stone. "Nina's right. Brandon _has_ been doing this. I'll kill him. I'll kill him, and then I'll open the bridge again somehow, and I'll go over there and I will kill that monster Walternate with my bare hands."

"I'd gladly help you," Nina offered.

"And if my son dies," Walter added, "I will kill you too."

"Whoa, now, Walter, nobody's opening up any bridges, and nobody's killing anybody, you got that?" Peter sighed, and looked at Peter Zero. "Assuming Nina's right, and somehow I'm not responsible for these events, _and_ assuming you can help me, what would that mean for you?"

"It's a simple bone marrow transplant," Nina answered.

"I'm asking _him_," Peter said evenly, pointing to his doppelganger. "Is this dangerous for you?"

Peter Zero looked at Nina, then brought his gaze back to Peter. "I can save your life."

"Yes, we've established that. But at what cost to you? Why do I get the feeling this is more complicated than a bone marrow donation?" Peter prodded him.

"The procedure of donation would compromise the integrity of my structure. I would begin to… degrade." Peter Zero looked at Peter with a mix of sadness and envy. "I'm not human, after all."

"Hell, yes you are," Peter insisted, grasping Peter Zero by the arm. "Yes. You. Are." Peter shook his head. "I won't do it. Not at this price. The answer's no."

"Peter, this is our last chance to save your life!" Walter exclaimed.

"He's right, Peter. Time is running out," Nina insisted, speaking nearly at the same time as Walter.

"No," Peter said firmly.

"But Peter…"

"Hello!" Peter Zero shouted. Everyone turned to look at him. "Clone in the room speaking now. I may have started life in a petri dish, but I assure you, I am capable of making simple decisions. And this decision is simple. I'll do it. Nina, you activated me for the purpose of saving Peter Albert Bishop's life." He turned to Peter. "_Your_ life. And from what I know, it is a life worth saving. I don't really have a life, but I can help you continue to live yours. And that's what I'm going to do." He saw Peter open his mouth, and held up his hand. "No argument. We're done talking here."

Walter couldn't suppress a smile. "Yes, you're Peter, all right," was all he said.

-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-


	21. Chapter 21

21.

"I'll still never get used to having my car valet parked at Massive Dynamic," Astrid mused as she and Olivia walked through the glass doors of the building. "And not having to tip anyone for doing it!"

"Perks of hangin' with the boss," Olivia said without smiling. She gave a half-wave to Kevin Sanchez as he approached. "Hi, Kevin. We're just going upstairs to see Dr. Fayette. Do me a favor? Don't announce us."

"Oh, Dr. Fayette's gone, Agent Dunham," Kevin replied. "Hey, Agent Farnsworth," he added, smiling shyly at Astrid.

"Hi, Kevin," Astrid replied pleasantly. "Isn't it a little early for quitting time? When did he leave?"

"Oh, about twenty minutes ago. I kinda kidded him about bankers' hours, and the dude was _not_ in a humorous mood. I guess I was a little too familiar," he added, embarrassed.

"I'm sure you were no such thing, Kevin. You're always very professional," Astrid assured him.

"Damn it," Olivia muttered. "He's in the wind. We must've spooked him, Astrid. Kevin, I need you to keep an eye out for him. Do not tell him we're looking for him if he comes back, but call me or Agent Farnsworth right away, okay?"

"Will do, Agent Dunham. And if he looks like he's gonna book again, I'll figure out a way to detain him."

"That would be fantastic, Kevin, can you do that for me?"

"Absolutely. This is Massive Dynamic – what can't we do?" Kevin smiled.

Olivia returned the smile. "Thanks." She turned to Astrid. "I'm just gonna check in with Peter, and then let Broyles know what's up."

"Oh, you mean he didn't call you when he got back?" Kevin said. "Sorry, couldn't help but hear."

"What do you mean, when he got back?" Olivia queried.

"He said he'd call you or Doctor Bishop to pick him up at the heliport. He promised he would. Gotta say, Agent Dunham, he looked great. I was really stoked to see that."

"I'm sorry, Kevin, you've lost me. Peter is at home. He has been since we took him home after his last treatment." Olivia was getting a very bad feeling.

"Huh? But… I saw him a few hours ago. Right here in the lobby. I had the guys fire up the chopper to take him home. He said he was doing some research, and spilled some stuff, which explained the dorky clothes he was wearing… "

"Dorky?" Astrid interrupted.

"He was wearing scrubs and a jacket, and beat up pair of sneakers. Truth to tell, he was looking great, but he was acting kinda weird. Figured maybe the treatment had doped him up a little."

"Weird how?" Astrid asked.

"He hugged me, and called me Dude." Kevin's forehead creased in worry. "Oh, man, is he okay? Should I have stopped him? I'm really sorry, Agent Dunham, but he's a grown man, and he promised he'd call you guys."

"No, it's okay, Kevin. He probably called Walter, it's fine," Olivia reassured him, although she felt anything but.

She and Astrid said their goodbyes, and as soon as they were in the car, Olivia pulled out her cell, dialing Peter's number. "What the hell is going on?" she said to Astrid.

"I'm sure he's okay, Olivia," Astrid replied.

After what felt like an eternity, she heard a click. "Hey, hon," Peter's weak voice said, trying his best to sound chipper.

"Hey yourself. Where are you?" Olivia said tersely. Straining to hear him, she added, "And what's that noise in the background?"

"Um, kind of a long story," he replied. "You at Massive?"

"Yes, I am… and so, I hear, were you. What's up with that?" She was trying not to be angry; she had told Peter to rest, but after the confrontation with Walter, she had feared he might bolt. Kevin's statement had pretty much confirmed that fear.

"That… that's another long story. Stay put, will you? I'm headed there in the company chopper with Walter, Nina, and… a friend who might be able to help us."

"Peter, I want an explanation. Now," Olivia demanded.

She could hear him sigh in exasperation and exhaustion even over the chopper noises. "I know you do, but I can't give you one right now. You have to see for yourself. Please trust me?"

"I do," she said cautiously.

"But?" He only said one word, but Olivia could feel a thousand emotions, including disappointment and guilt, in that word.

Mentally berating herself, she said, "But nothing. I trust you. Of course I trust you. And I have news – Peter, Brandon's notes are wrong. Deliberately wrong. He doctored them. You are not responsible for the fringe events."

For a moment, all she heard was the chopper engine, then to her surprise Peter said, "Yeah, I know."

"You know? How do you know?"

"Look, I'll… I'll explain everything later. See you soon, okay?"

Her eyebrows furrowed, she bit her tongue. This wasn't the time to discuss anything. "Okay, Astrid and I will be waiting," Olivia said gently.

"Liv?"

"Yes?"

"I love you."

"I know," she said with a smile before disconnecting the call.

-0-0-0-0-0-

Peter grinned as he put his phone back in his pocket. Mustering up what little strength he actually felt, he began, "Okay, so here's the deal. Walter, the bone marrow's going to be extracted using apheresis, right?"

"Yes," Walter replied through the microphone attached to his headphones. "It's much more accurate, and less uncomfortable for the donor." He smiled tightly at Peter Zero.

"Great. I'm thinking… if this thing works, and after my blood tests come back, we could do the same procedure for Peter Zero. Kind of a reverse donation." At Walter's incredulous look, he said, "Give him back my healthy DNA – maybe it would stop the degradation process if he had a transplant from… the original, I guess you'd call it."

"That's a rather specious premise, Peter," Walter replied.

"Since when does any of this make sense anyway? Is this any crazier than finding out I have a clone?" Peter countered. "I can't live with myself knowing that he's making this kind of sacrifice for me, Walter."

"I don't mind," Peter Zero interjected.

"I know you don't. For whatever reason, you seem perfectly content with laying down your life – which started, what? A few hours ago? – for me. But I'm _not_ perfectly content with it. And if we have to toss up a Hail Mary pass to save you, that's what we'll do." Peter closed his eyes briefly, pinching the bridge of his nose and groaning softly.

"Son? What's wrong?" Walter demanded.

"Nothing. I'm okay." He looked to Peter Zero. "If you're willing to go through the transplant to help me, please be willing to let me try and help you."

"That seems fair," Peter Zero replied matter-of-factly.

"Good." Peter groaned again, louder, and wrapped his arms protectively around his stomach. "Never thought I'd say this, but are we there yet?" he said through gritted teeth.

Walter leaned over from his seat behind Peter, placing his hand on his son's forehead as Peter leaned against the window. "Almost there, son, almost there," he said soothingly, not liking the heat he felt emanating from his son's face.

"He's getting worse," Peter Zero said flatly.

"Yes. Yes, he is," Walter said sadly, then placed his hand on Peter Zero's shoulder. "I know what this means for you. Thank you," he said simply. Peter Zero only nodded, a wistful smile on his face.

-0-0-0-0-0-0-

Olivia and Astrid stepped back as the chopper landed on the helipad located on the roof of Massive Dynamic. As soon as the engine was turned off, Olivia took off at a sprint, only stopping when she saw Peter emerge from the chopper with help from Walter. "Hey," Peter smiled at her in relief. "Have I got a surprise for you. I have… " His eyes rolled back, and he slumped into Walter's arms.

Walter sank to the ground, cradling Peter as they fell. "It's okay, I've got you, son, I've got you. Get that gurney over here now!" He bellowed as the EMT's approached behind Olivia, who had crouched next to Walter and Peter.

Olivia looked to Walter, who frowned. "Time's running out," he said as he stroked Peter's hair.

"What are we going to do this time, Walter? Brandon has compromised everything else you tried," Olivia said, her voice tight.

"He'll be all right now," a voice said behind her – Peter's voice. "I'm here to help."

Confused, Olivia looked over her shoulder, and froze. "What the… Walter, what is this?"

"This is Peter Zero, Olivia. He's a genetic replication of… my Peter," Walter replied evenly, although he balked at using the term. The Peter in his arms felt every bit as much his son as the little boy he'd lost so many years ago; Walter only felt a little guilty at that thought. "He's going to help save him."

Olivia grabbed Peter's shoulders and tried to pry him from Walter's arms. "No. No, no, no," she said. "Don't you touch him."

"Liv," Peter admonished her weakly, sitting up in Walter's arms and reaching out to her. "It's okay. "

Olivia grasped his arms. "How is this okay? Where did this… _guy_ come from?"

"Like I said, long story," Peter replied, his voice failing him. "But it's okay… we're gonna make it okay…" He allowed Olivia to pull him into her arms. "We're gonna make it okay for everybody."

"Ma'am," the EMT said, "We have to take him."

As Peter was gently lifted onto the gurney, Peter Zero cautiously approached Olivia. "I can explain everything while we're waiting to start the procedure, if you'd like." He smiled shyly.

Olivia pursed her lips. He looked so much like Peter… but… "And I should believe you, why?"

"Because you want to. Because you already do." A cheeky grin lit his face. "And besides, have I ever lied to you?"


	22. Chapter 22

22.

Peter lifted his head out of the toilet bowl with a groan. "Well, that's a great way to head into life-saving surgery," he said as he sat back with his head against the cool tile.

Walter wiped Peter's face and mouth with a cool cloth. "I'm so sorry, son. We had to give you a concentrated dose of radiation therapy to prep you for the marrow transplant. There's no time for the usual course of treatment." Peter had suggested skipping the required pre-op course of radiation altogether, but Walter had refused, telling him that without it, his system would be overwhelmed, and would reject the bone marrow.

"But it's my DNA, Walter," Peter had replied, his voice as near a whine as Walter had ever heard.

Peter was frightened, and Walter knew it, but as always, his son snapped his carefully-honed air of stoicism back into place when Walter told him that it was out of the question. He would have the radiation treatment, and that was that. "Fine," he'd said weakly, "But you get to deal with Olivia when I glimmer even more than usual because I'm radioactive."

Walter put his hands under Peter's arms. "All right now, up you get," he said as he hoisted Peter to his feet. "Okay?"

Peter nodded woozily. "This is getting annoying," he joked humorlessly. Suddenly he fixed Walter with a look so vulnerable and trusting it took Walter's breath away. "Please tell me this is gonna work, Dad. Even if you don't believe it, just tell me."

"Come here to me," Walter said, drawing Peter to him gently. "This is going to work," he said softly in Peter's ear as he tenderly stroked his hair. "And I do believe it." He drew away slightly, Peter's face now in his hands. "Don't give up. Okay?"

Peter nodded. "Okay. Just needed a boost, is all," he replied decisively.

Patting Peter's face, Walter smiled. "All right, let's get you prepped, shall we? Then we'll go get… him." He settled Peter into the waiting wheelchair and wheeled him to his pre-op room in the infirmary. Helping him onto the bed, he said in a chipper voice, "Extra pillows! Someone must have an in with the owner here."

Peter smiled wanly. "Friends in high places," he said as he settled back and watched Walter ready his IV. After a brief silence, he said in a soft voice, "It's so weird."

"What is, son?" Walter asked, inserting Peter's IV needle without a flinch from his son.

"I'd kinda gotten used to being alone."

Walter's brows knit. "Alone? Whatever do you mean?"

Peter chuckled. "It's crazy, never mind."

"No," Walter said, halting his activities. "What's on your mind, Peter?"

"Peter," he echoed. "Peter is on my mind. Ever since our long, strange trip started here, I've watched you, and Olivia, and Astrid – hell, even Broyles and Nina – deal with having someone else in the world who not only looks exactly like you, but _is_ you. Crazy thing is, I've always kinda envied you."

Walter snorted. "Believe me, son, having Walternate as my doppelganger is nothing to envy." At Peter's pained expression, he added, "That was thoughtless of me, Peter. I'm sorry. He's your father."

"S'okay," Peter replied. "He's a right bastard. But, I've had to get used to the fact that there's only one me. All the tug-of-war stuff, it just kind of got to be old hat, ya know? But now… all of a sudden, there's Peter Zero." He shook his head. "Peter Zero. Helluva name. Poor guy must be overwhelmed by it all, and he's still willing to do this to save my life."

"I can't say I'm surprised," Walter said.

"Huh?"

"I'm not surprised that, despite the extreme circumstances, he will do what's necessary to save someone's life. He is _you_, after all."

-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-

Olivia paced the floor of the infirmary's waiting room, an activity she was thoroughly sick of doing. How many hours had she spent in this place in the last few weeks, waiting and worrying about Peter? If there was one thing Olivia Dunham wasn't good at it, it was sitting idly by and fretting. God, what she wouldn't give for a cup of –

"Coffee?" She spun around, nearly knocking Peter Zero – and the steaming cup of coffee in his hand – over in the process. "Sorry. I didn't mean to startle you. I just thought you might like a cup of coffee." He held the cup out to her.

She took it hesitantly. "Thank you," she said, taking a sip. It was exactly the way she liked it. Glaring over the rim of the paper cup at Peter Zero, she said, "How? How do you know how I take my coffee?" He opened his mouth to speak, but she held a hand up in protest. "Don't. Just don't, okay? I can't." She started to leave the room.

"I don't understand it, either," he called after her. She stilled, and turned back around. "It's true. I woke up in the lab. And I was him. It's not like I remember every detail of his life – his life with you, or with Walter, anything really tangible. But there are just things I know." Peter Zero sighed and ran a hand through his hair in a very Peter gesture. "And I don't know why I know them." He walked over to the couch, and sat heavily.

Olivia couldn't help herself, and went to him, sitting next to him on the couch. "What other things, besides how I like my coffee?" she asked with an encouraging smile.

Peter Zero sat for a moment, then said, "Your name is really Olive. Astrid is an expert at cryptography, and bakes when she's nervous." He looked at Olivia briefly, then down at his hands. "Walter… walks around the house naked on Tuesdays?" He looked up again when Olivia chuckled. "He really does?"

"Oh, yeah, he really does," Olivia replied. She laid a hand on Peter Zero's arm. "Go on. What else?"

"I knew where the house was. I knew how to go home." He withdrew his arm from Olivia's touch. "Except, it's not really _my_ home, is it?" He stood up. "I should go. They're probably ready for me anyway." Olivia started to rise, but he said, "Just… never mind, okay? I'll help Peter, and then… then, I don't know. If Peter's idea works, I'll figure out a way to disappear. If it doesn't, you guys won't have to worry about me getting in the way."

Olivia rose anyway. "You're not in anybody's way. You're right where you should be." At his astonished expression, she said, "Emotional quantum entanglement."

"I don't understand."

"Walter called it spooky action at a distance. It's Einstein. Two objects interacting with each other even though they're separated by a great distance. In your case, not such a great distance."

"So, you're saying that because we have the same DNA that, somehow, I'm sharing some of Peter's experiences? Even though he's from the other universe?"

"I don't see why not," Olivia posited. "Makes just as much sense as anything else."

Peter Zero laughed. "True." His smile faded. "It's just… it feels wrong. I feel like I'm stealing."

Olivia looked into Peter Zero's eyes, and was startled by the depth of the emotion she saw there. He seemed to not only carry some of Peter's memories and experiences, but his sense of guilt as well. "You're not stealing," she tried to reassure him. "None of this is your fault."

"It's not his, either," Peter Zero protested. "I mean, when does _he_ catch a break? Everything he's gone through – everything you've both gone through – and what does he get in return? This? Me?"

At that moment, it took every ounce of strength Olivia had not to wrap her arms around the distraught young man before her. She felt so drawn to him – his pain, his guilt, his confusion – and yet… "Hey," she finally said. "Stop it. You have no reason to feel guilty about existing. The fact that you do is a credit to you."

"No, it's not. It's a credit to him. Everything I think, everything I feel, is him. It's Peter. He's the one with the sense of honor, and guilt, and obligation. I'm just a copy."

"You are not. You're a person. A human being, created from DNA. You wouldn't say an IVF child isn't human, would you?"

"Of course not, but they're supposed to exist. I'm not. I'm a creation. A lab test. I'm mold on a piece of bread or something."

"You are a living, breathing, feeling human being, Peter. Stop this," Olivia remonstrated.

"I'm a copy of Peter Albert Bishop," Peter Zero insisted. "Answer this, then, if you're so sure I'm human."

"Go ahead," Olivia said.

"Do I have a soul?"

Just then, Astrid appeared in the doorway. "Hey," she said softly. "Peter, I think they're ready for you. Olivia, you can go in and see Peter before the procedure."

"You called me Peter," Peter Zero said quietly.

"Of course I did," Astrid replied. "What am I gonna call you? Zero? That would be rude." Astrid stopped him on his way out the door, standing on tiptoe and kissing his cheek. "Thank you. Thank you so much for this. We're going to figure out a way to help you, too. I promise."

He nodded. "Thanks. I know you'll try," was all he said as he left.

Astrid looked to Olivia, whose eyes had followed Peter Zero out the door. "Did I interrupt something?"

"I honestly don't know," Olivia said, shaking her head.

"What do you mean? Olivia, what's going on?"

"I think… Astrid, I think I kind of get it now," Olivia offered.

"Get what?"

"I think I understand why it was so easy for the other Olivia to fool Peter. He's… that's _Peter_," she said, pointing to the spot where Peter Zero had just been. "And I know it's not him. I _know_ it. But… "

"You're drawn to him anyway," Astrid finished.

"How can that be?" Olivia got up from the couch.

"It's just like you said, Olivia," Astrid answered. "He's Peter."

"Wow," Olivia breathed. "Wow." She took a deep breath. "I gotta see him before the surgery." She stopped. "I mean, _my_ Peter."

Astrid smiled. "I know who you meant. Give your man a good luck kiss from me, and tell him I'll see him later."

-0-0-0-0-0-0-

The pre-op room was abuzz with activity; various doctors and nurses wandered about, muttering scientific jargon that went over even Olivia's experienced head. She didn't really care what they were saying anyway; she was in search of only one face. She spotted Nina Sharp standing apart from the bustle. "What are you doing here?" she asked brusquely.

"Walter needed me to give him some of the specifics of what Brandon has been doing, to try and counteract them before Peter's surgery. Just in case there are some leftover effects. Don't worry, when I'm no longer needed, I'll go. I'm probably the last person any of you want to see right now."

"Well, I'm pretty sure the FBI, the SEC, and various other government agencies will want to see you, so I wouldn't feel too lonely just yet," Olivia replied crisply.

Walter approached them, a scowl on his face at the sight of Nina. He turned to Olivia. "Hello, dear, we're just about ready. One thing first." Turning back to Nina, he said, "For some unfathomable reason, my son wishes to speak with you. Make it quick. He needs to see Olivia as well."

Surprised, Nina nodded. "Of course, I'll be right back."

Walter and Olivia's eyes followed Nina to Peter's bedside. Olivia could barely make out the figure in the bed, surrounded by machines and tubes. He looked so young, and so fragile, it broke Olivia's heart, even as her anger grew when she saw Nina take his hand. "So, Walter, what do you think?"

"I don't know what to think. At this point, I'm operating purely on hope," he said honestly. "Peter's very weak. We had to give him radiation to prep for the marrow transplant, and it's taken just about the last bit of strength he has. Physically, I'm so very worried that he won't be strong enough. But… he's tough. And stubborn. All of this would have taken down a lesser man. Lord knows I've been driven to madness by less than what he's had to deal with. It's astonishing, really. No matter what gets thrown his way, he just… handles it."

"Yeah, he bottles a lot of stuff up, and gets on with things." She took Walter's hands in hers. "Now it's our turn to be strong for him, right? He's gonna fight, and so are we. So, none of this, "I'm not sure, I don't know,' stuff, okay? You're Doctor Walter Bishop. You've crossed universes for your son. I think a bone marrow transplant should be a piece of cake." She noticed Nina leaving the room via an opposite exit. Squeezing Walter's hands, she said, "That's my cue."

She approached the bed slowly, but when Peter's eyes opened and he smiled at her, her pace quickened. She took his outstretched hand in hers and kissed it. "Hey there," she said, placing a brief kiss on his lips. "That's from Astrid, for good luck."

"Brazen thing," Peter murmured with a smile.

"She says she'll see you later," Olivia added. "So, you ready?"

"Born ready," he joked, although his weak voice held no mirth. "Liv, listen. If… "

She put finger to his lips, then replaced it with her own. "No," she whispered. "No. Just fight."

"I think I need some help on this one," Peter said tearfully. "Hang onto me, huh?"

She rested her forehead against his. "With both hands, and my whole heart," she said.

"I love you," he said softly.

"I love you, too," she echoed, kissing him one last time. "Good luck."

He gave a wan smile, and the thumbs-up sign, as two orderlies came and began to move the gurney. "Just remember," she called softly. "You belong with me." As the gurney wheeled away, she repeated, "You belong with me."

-0-0-0-0-0-

_**We're heading into the homestretch - just a very few chapters to go! Thanks to my readers for hanging on for the ride, and of course, a great big thank you hug to the Beta to Beat All Betas, DixieGirl!**_


	23. Chapter 23

23.

Olivia stepped nervously into the recovery room, looking back over her shoulder at Astrid, who nodded encouragingly. Walter greeted her near the door; he looked exhausted, and emotionally spent, but he had a serene smile on his face that gave Olivia hope.

She spent her time in the waiting room clearing emails off her phone, and trying not to contemplate a life without Peter. She thought back to her time with John, and how frantic she was to save him. How ironic that saving the life of the man she thought she loved led her to the true love of her life.

Her fear now was so different to what she felt with John that it amazed her; when faced with losing John, she felt panic, desperation even. But that was nothing compared to the abject, paralyzing fear she felt now. Peter Bishop, the bitter, nomadic son of a madman, had become her constant. He was the calm eye in the storm that was her life, and right now, she felt like she was in the middle of a maelstrom, all alone.

She couldn't even consider Peter not being there in the future. It simply wasn't an option. And so, Olivia Dunham did the only thing she could – she simply shut down for the hours that Peter spent receiving the marrow transplant. No wringing of hands, no watching the clock, or checking her watch, or asking Astrid how much longer she thought it would take. Olivia simply sat, and waited; no one heard the silent prayers she repeated like a mantra in her head.

Walter was the first to break the silence. "I think the usual medical euphemism is, 'stable and resting comfortably,'" he said softly.

"How'd it go?" she asked, glancing around Walter toward the still figure in the bed.

"Very well. It's actually quite a straightforward procedure. The real danger is generally _after_ the procedure – rejection, infection, and the like. The possibility of rejection is, of course, greatly lessened, if not completely eliminated, in Peter's case. But his resistance has been terribly weakened, especially by the extreme radiation treatment. So, we'll need to monitor him very closely." Walter's professional façade finally fell. "I'm… cautiously optimistic," he said with a tentative smile.

"You're amazing, is what you are," Olivia said fondly, giving his arm a squeeze. "We're all so proud of you."

Walter snorted dismissively. "Oh, yes, I've been just a paragon of fatherhood, shoving a gun in my son's face and telling him to kill himself."

"Hey, you were beyond upset. People do stupid, mean things when they're upset."

"Especially me," Walter interjected.

"Well, you do have a particular talent," Olivia said, her words softened with a smile. "But obviously, Peter has forgiven you for that. So, let's move on. You're saving his life. Again. Be happy about that."

Walter nodded. "You're right." He grinned like a child on Christmas morning. "Would you like to see him?"

"That would be nice," Olivia said, her smile almost matching his.

As she approached the bed, Peter's eyes opened. "Gotta stop meeting like this," he said in a hoarse voice.

"People will talk," Olivia replied, kissing him. Running a hand through his slightly damp hair, she added, "Toldja I'd hang on."

"Never doubted it," he smiled sleepily. "How's Peter?"

Olivia looked to Walter, who nodded happily. "He's good."

"No degradation yet?"

Walter stepped closer. "Nothing yet, son. We're monitoring him for any signs. And, before you say it, yes, we're formulating a reverse-marrow-graft for him as soon as you're well enough. Okay?"

Peter's smile grew wider. "Okay." He looked at Olivia closely. "How about you? You look exhausted, hon."

"Me? I'm… "

"Don't," Peter said sharply. "Don't say you're fine. Have you eaten?"

"Yes, Dad," she droned sarcastically.

"No, she hasn't," Walter said. "Astrid said she ate a little, but got sick afterward."

"Thanks a lot, Walter," Olivia said, glaring at him. Seeing Peter's distress, she continued, "Look, I've been running on fumes for weeks. And I just… it caught up to me after I tried some of the infirmary cafeteria's magnificent cuisine, all right? It's not a big deal. Astrid got me a bottle of Gatorade, and some crackers, and I'm fine."

"You're sure?" Peter said softly.

She stroked his cheek. "I'm sure. I'm absolutely… wait for it… fine." She punctuated her comment with a kiss.

"Okay," Peter said. "But go home and get some sleep – and something to eat. Heat up some of the chicken I made the other night. Should still be good." He yawned.

"Such a worrier," she laughed. "You're gonna make some kid a great daddy someday."

"I wish," Peter slurred, sleep taking him.

-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-

The next two weeks passed without much fanfare as Peter's recovery progressed. Olivia was taking her daily walk down the hall to his room, when she heard voices from inside. One of them was definitely Peter's, but one was unknown to her. She stopped at the door and listened.

"I don't like being put in this position. The United States government doesn't negotiate with terrorists, Mr. Bishop," the mystery voice droned. "Not even home-grown ones such as yourself."

"Oh, now, Secretary Harrold," Peter's amused voice replied, "We both know this isn't terrorism. This is a simple business transaction, undertaken for a mutually beneficial purpose. You have something I need, and I have something you want."

_Secretary Harrold_? Olivia's eyebrows shot up through her hairline. _The Deputy Secretary of Management and Resources at the State Department?_ "You have absolutely nothing I could possibly want," Harrold said haughtily.

"That may be true. Let me rephrase. I have something you _don't_ want. Information. I can go to State and let them know just who you've been funneling hush money to for the last eight years to keep your little liaison with Osama's second cousin quiet."

"Second cousin once removed," Harrold said hastily. "And I didn't even know they were related."

"Really? Not even when she _told_ you she was Osama bin Laden's cousin? Man, she was a chatty drunk."

_Ooookayyyy_… Olivia shook her head in disbelief. But how –

"How do you know all this? How did you hear… oh, my God. You were the bartender!" Harrold's voice rose in pitch. "What was the son of the owner of Massive Dynamic doing…"

"Tending bar in Jersey? Earning a living, man," Peter said nonchalantly. "A friend of mine recommended me, and told me the tips would be insane if I kept my ears open. He was right. The payoff's just taken a bit longer than anticipated." A brief, but – even from Olivia's vantage point outside – uncomfortable silence followed, until Peter broke it. "Listen, I know there was no harm done, but I'm through going down memory lane with you. Do you have what I asked you to bring me, or not?"

"Yes, yes, here. Everything's in order."

"And unimpeachable? Completely legit?"

"Yes, they're fully signed and authorized, all right? I've made my deal with the devil, and there are the signatures to prove it. You can take them straight back to hell with you." Olivia heard a sound like paper changing hands.

"Been there," Peter said quietly as Olivia heard papers shuffling. "Looks good. Everything does seem to be in order. Well done. Thanks, Mr. Secretary. You have my word, this is the last your indiscretion will ever be spoken of. I know, probably not enough for you, but it'll have to do."

"Why do I actually believe you, Bishop?"

"I have that kind of face," came Peter's reply.

About thirty seconds later, the door to Peter's room flew open, and Deputy Secretary Mark Harrold stormed out. Olivia pretended to be just getting to the door, nodding at the official crisply. He hurried past her down the hall without acknowledging her.

She watched him scurry away, then walked into Peter's room. She found Peter sitting up in bed, and found tears springing to her eyes; she hadn't seen him looking so well in weeks. "Hey, hon!" Peter said brightly. "You're just in time. I need to talk to you."

"Sounds like you already did a lot of talking with Deputy Secretary Harrold," Olivia said slyly. "Peter, were you blackmailing him?"

"Yup," Peter said simply.

"What? Peter! I thought those days were behind you! And doing it from your hospital bed? Seriously?" Olivia took a seat at the edge of the bed after Peter scooted over for her.

"Yes, seriously. Liv, That's what I need to talk to you about. Or at least, sort of talk to you about. I'm sorry you overheard that. I've been trying to keep you out of this, for plausible deniability if nothing else." Peter ran a hand absent-mindedly over the large manila envelope in his hands.

"Plausible deniability? Peter, what's in that envelope?"

He searched her face for a moment; there was no accusation in her face, just genuine curiosity. "I can't exactly tell you. But I overheard Broyles outside on the phone a few days ago when he came to see me. They're tightening the noose around Nina's neck, Liv. They're going to try and hang all the shit Bell pulled in the past on her. And it's not right."

"Peter, there's an ongoing investigation," Olivia corrected him gently. "If Nina had no part in the Peter Project – "

"But she did," Peter interrupted. "Inadvertently or otherwise, she did. Bell's not here to take the fall. And someone has to. So, it's gonna be Nina. And what happens to Peter, then, huh? I just did the apheresis donation this morning, and he's getting the transfusion later. He's degrading, Liv, and the only person he has in the world who seems to care about him is Nina."

"That's not true," Olivia said, although it disturbed her to think about just how much she had come to care for Peter's clone – and how quickly it had happened. "We all care about him. He saved your life. We'll take care of him."

"He's not a child, Liv," Peter said testily. He sighed. "I'm sorry, hon, it's just... You and I, of all people, know the value of a second chance. And I want Nina – and Peter – to have one. I made the most of mine, didn't I?"

At Peter's sincere, bright smile, Olivia couldn't help but smile back. "Yes, you certainly did, Bishop. Okay, so I sort of know, but don't know, what's in that envelope someone from the State Department gave you. What else do you want me to not know?"

"That's pretty much it, actually, but I could use a favor." He gave her his best puppy-dog face. "Would you take me up to see Peter Zero, please?"

-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-

Nina was finishing up a row of knitting as Peter Zero dozed when a knock came at the hospital room door. She smiled as Olivia poked her head in. "Hello, dear," she said softly.

"Is he asleep?" Olivia asked, holding the door open to let Peter wheel himself in.

"No," Peter Zero said with a smile, his eyes still closed. When he finally opened them, he grinned at Olivia. "Hi, Olivia. You look pretty today. You should wear a pink blouse more often."

"Hey, quit mackin' on my girl," Peter joked as he rolled to a stop near Nina.

"Take a lesson, Bishop. Sometimes a girl likes to be complimented." Olivia smiled back at Peter Zero. "Thank you," she said flirtatiously. Her smile faded when she turned to Nina. "Hello, Nina."

"How ya doin' today, Mini-Me? You look like hell," Peter said, trying to keep things light as he wheeled closer to the bed.

"I'm okay," Peter Zero said weakly. "You look great."

"Thanks, I'm feeling a lot better."

Peter Zero laughed. "It's too bad that only one of us gets to look okay at any given time."

"Perhaps that's for the best," Peter replied seriously. At Peter Zero's questioning look, he finished, "The female population couldn't handle two of us at one time!"

"Oh, please," Olivia said, rolling her eyes. "Seriously, though, how are you feeling?"

Peter Zero considered for a moment, then replied, "My systems are degrading. But I'll be better soon. The marrow transplant is this afternoon. Thank you, Peter."

"What are you thanking me for? Just returning the favor." Peter patted his doppelganger on the arm. "We're in this together." He turned to Nina. "And on that note… Liv, you might want to leave the room."

Olivia raised an eyebrow. "What, putting my fingers in my ears and saying, 'La-la, not listening,' isn't good enough?"

"Uhhh… _no_," Peter replied succinctly.

"Fine," she said, with the hint of a smile. She walked over to the side of Peter Zero's bed, leaned down and kissed his cheek. "Good luck this afternoon. I'll come by and check on you later, okay?"

Peter Zero blushed. "I'd like that very much. Thanks."

Olivia smirked at Peter's glare. "Right outside. Don't talk too loud, or plausible deniability goes right out the window."

As the door closed behind her, Nina looked at Peter suspiciously. "Plausible deniability? What was she talking about?"

"These," Peter said, holding the manila envelope out to Nina. As she opened it and perused the contents with a look of shock on her face, he said to Peter Zero, "They're IDs. Social Security cards, passports, drivers' licenses, bank accounts, the works. The Feds are investigating what happened here, Peter. And they're gonna want to blame someone for it."

"Nina's the logical choice, I suppose. Since she's the only one left," Peter Zero said, picking up Peter's train of thought.

"At least until they find Fayette. Even then, he's probably going to try and spin this as Nina's baby… if you'll pardon the expression." Peter waited a moment while Nina placed the items back in the envelope. "The bank account is legit, and has enough money to at least get you started. I'm sorry I couldn't put more in, but I didn't want to raise any red flags."

"I… Peter, I don't know what to say," Nina said in a hushed tone.

"Nothing to say," he shrugged. "Remember a few years ago, you did something for me, and said that someday, you'd come to me for a return favor? Well, you never did. So, consider this that favor." He surprised Nina by taking her gloved, bionic hand in his. "Everybody deserves a second chance, Nina. Everybody." He looked back at Peter Zero. "And sometimes, a first chance, right?"

-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-

Brandon Fayette stuffed the last shirt into his duffel bag and zipped it shut quickly, catching a piece of the fabric in the zipper. "Goddammit," he grumbled as he tugged at it.

"Well, perhaps if you slowed down," Newton said, smiling as Brandon jumped in surprise.

"How did you get in?" Brandon groused.

"Same as always, through the door. Now, where do you think you're going?" Newton calmly took a seat on the edge of Brandon's spotless coffee table.

"I don't know. Anywhere but here," he shot back. "You were right, Dunham figured it out. They know I doctored the treatments. I gotta get outta here."

"I knew the Secretary was making a mistake sending you to do this. Just as he was wrong to send Olivia to infiltrate before. You're weak – she in her misguided affection for the Bishop boy, and you? You're just an idiot."

Newton reached into his pants pocket and pulled out a pack of gum. He waved it at Brandon as an offer; Brandon shook his head violently, so Newton shrugged, took a piece out and popped it in his mouth nonchalantly. "Fayette, if there's one thing you should always know about the Secretary, it's that he doesn't like things left half done. You had a job to do, and you've failed. He was none too happy when I told him – "

"You told him?" Brandon all but shrieked. "But, how? I mean, I left the typewriter…"

"As if the only means of communication would be left in your oh-so capable hands? Brandon, really," Newton droned. "Your job isn't done. So you're not going anywhere." He reached into his pocket again, and retrieved a piece of paper, handing it to Brandon. "Things are a little too hot at Massive Dynamic right now, so you'll need to lie low, a few days perhaps. But you had better get this done, or you won't need to find a place to hide." Newton rose. "If you understand my meaning. Good day, Fayette."

Brandon stood dumbly holding the paper as Newton let himself out. "Creep," he muttered aloud. Looking at the folded paper, he swallowed nervously and unfolded it.

"Oh, shit. Shit, shit, shit," he exclaimed when he read the words on the paper:

KILL THE BOY. ALL OF HIM.

-0-0-0-0-0-0-


	24. Chapter 24

24.

If he was being honest, Brandon Fayette had been looking forward to this for quite some time. He didn't normally consider himself a violent man – his misdeeds took place in a lab, more often than not. He recalled with glee wanting to dissect Olivia Dunham, and suggesting to the Secretary that General Broyles be… _trimmed_ to provide the proper weight balance for their own Agent Dunham's return. But he never did the deeds himself – too messy, too beneath him. He was the brains; let the brawn handle the dirty work.

But this? This he was relishing. And as he donned his disguise – a rather good one, at that, provided by Newton – and passed security without trouble, he began to get really excited. Kevin Sanchez was never very bright to begin with; the thought that it only took a fake ID, beard and fedora, of all things, to get past him was astonishing. Since Sanchez had been in charge, security, in Brandon's opinion, had become a joke.

He was thankful for it as he found himself outside Peter Bishop's room. He decided to keep things simple; a nice easy air bubble in his IV, and Peter Bishop would be out of his life for good. The Secretary would be pleased, and Brandon would somehow go home to a hero's welcome – and his proper place by the Secretary's side.

He almost cursed out loud when he felt his phone vibrate in his pocket. Pulling it out, he saw a text message from Newton:

_I know where you are. Do what's necessary there – I'll take care of the rest._

He was secretly glad; he didn't want to go back to the sub-basement and dispose of all the other Bishop replicants; it was too messy, and he was a bit sorry to see them go. They had been such fun toys to play with. He quickly texted a reply of, "OK," took a deep breath, and gingerly pushed the door open.

The room was empty except for the figure sleeping in the bed. He'd been keeping tabs on the extended Bishop family since before he was found out, and knew their routines. At this time of day, Peter was alone; Olivia was at the office, and Walter and Astrid were usually at the diner a few blocks away from Massive Dynamic. The old man had gone on for what felt like hours about the "Outstanding strawberry shortcake," at the diner, and had vowed to bring Brandon a piece one day for all his hard work. It never happened, but he did bring Peter one once.

Brandon stealthily crept toward the bed, and looked at the sleeping Peter. He looked much better than he had recently; color had begun to return to his face, and his youthful appearance had also made its comeback. How Brandon hated that face, with its preternatural wisdom and cookie-cutter handsomeness. He wanted to say something before performing his task, to let Peter know that he, Brandon Fayette the Afterthought, had finally beaten him, but thought better of it. He said his triumphant goodbyes in his head, and withdrew the syringe from his pocket.

Removing the cap, Brandon allowed himself a moment to fantasize about how he would be received back at home – if he could actually get there. A smile bloomed on his face as he took hold of the IV port, and positioned the needle at the entry point.

He found his wrist in a vice grip. Looking down at the bed, he saw Peter Bishop smile at him and shake his head. "Not gonna happen," he said simply.

Brandon struggled briefly to free his hand, the syringe clattering to the floor. He managed to break free of Peter's grasp and lunged for the door, throwing it open, and finding himself face to face with a gun-toting Olivia Dunham… and Peter Bishop. "What the hell?" he gasped.

"You should know there's more than one of everything," Peter Zero said behind him.

Keeping her gun trained squarely in Brandon's face, Olivia said, "Brandon Fayette, you're under arrest for the attempted murder of Peter Bishop."

"And the murder of a whole other bunch of me, too," Peter intoned behind her.

Brandon took a step back, but was blocked by Peter Zero behind him. "But… how? There were failsafes. You weren't supposed to be sentient. There was a choice."

"Not with me," Peter Zero replied sadly.

"You have the right to remain silent," Olivia began. "Should you choose to give up that right, everything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law. You have…"

Suddenly, a low rumble was heard from below their feet, and the lights went out briefly. Brandon used that split second to plow past Olivia and Peter, and take off down the hall. As quickly as the lights went out, they returned, and he heard Olivia yell, "Freeze! Or I'll shoot!" Brandon scooted around the corner and continued down the hall with Olivia in pursuit. "Stop!" she yelled again.

Brandon heard the gunshot, but felt the bullet hit him in the leg a split second later. Strangely, it only felt like a bee sting, until he tried to put weight on it, and it crumpled beneath him. He let out a howl of pain, and fell to the floor, just in time to see the elevator doors a few yards from him open, and Kevin Sanchez emerge. Sanchez stood over him with a disapproving look. "Dude, you didn't think that disguise _really_ fooled me, did ya?"

Olivia reached them, and loomed over Brandon, her gun still trained on him. "Stay down. Do not move, or I swear, I will put a bullet through your heart – if you have one."

"You wouldn't shoot me unprovoked," Brandon taunted her through gritted teeth.

"So not a smart thing to say," Peter said, bringing up the rear to stand behind Olivia.

As Brandon grabbed his bleeding leg in pain, Olivia said, "You need to put pressure on it to stop the bleeding," and stepped on the hand covering the leg wound. Brandon shrieked. "Just to be clear, not only would I shoot you through the heart, I would enjoy it. A _lot_."

"I think she'd probably get a medal," Peter Zero added, much to Olivia and Peter's delight. Seeing his double smile, Peter Zero held his hand in the air behind Olivia. "Up high."

Chuckling, Peter said, "Up high," and slapped Peter Zero's hand.

"Thank you for the heads up, Kevin. It gave us time to set this up," Olivia said pleasantly to the portly security officer.

"My pleasure, Agent Dunham." Kevin's phone beeped urgently. "You got this, right? I have a report on that power outage we just had."

"Sure, we're good," Olivia said. She holstered her weapon, leaned down and rolled Brandon onto his stomach, pulling his arms behind his back and cuffing him.

"Oh, man," Kevin said, shaking his head worriedly at whatever he was looking at on his phone.

Peter wandered over to him. "What's wrong, Kevin? What was that outage before? I thought I heard a muffled explosion or something."

"It was," Kevin sighed. "Oh, man…"

"Kevin, out with it. What happened?" Peter urged him.

"There was an explosion. A contained one, in the sub-basement."

"The… oh, my God," Peter breathed, looking over at Peter Zero just in time to see his double stagger backwards slightly. "Peter?" he called, worried.

"They're gone," Peter Zero said softly. "They're all gone."

"Who?" Olivia asked.

"My brothers. The other Peters. They're dead," Peter Zero replied.

"Where's Nina Sharp?" Olivia barked. "Kevin, have you seen Nina Sharp?"

"She didn't do this, Liv," Peter said calmly. "She wouldn't." He turned to Kevin. "Any other information?"

Kevin was staring at a video on his phone screen. Handing it to Peter, he said, "I can't believe he'd do anything like this. He's a nice guy," he said absent-mindedly.

"Who?" Peter took the phone, and nearly dropped it in surprise when he saw the man in the video. "Aw, hell," he muttered. "You know him? You let him in here?" he said accusingly to Kevin.

"Dr. Phigg? Yeah, sure, why not? He's fully credentialed, passed the security screening and everything."

"Dr. Phigg? You have _got_ to be kidding me," Peter groaned. Looking over at Olivia's confused expression, he said, "It's Newton. Guy's got a sick sense of humor. Kevin, give me your weapon."

"Peter… " Olivia warned.

"No. You have to stay here with this one. Call for backup, but we can't let Newton get away. Your weapon, Kevin. _Now_." Peter held his hand out to Sanchez.

Kevin briefly looked at Olivia, who nodded. He took the semi-automatic pistol from his shoulder holster and handed it to Peter. "Dude, you sure about this?"

"Oh, yeah," Peter said. "I'm done with this. He killed… them." He gestured to Peter Zero. "He won't get away with it. I promise."

Peter Zero nodded. "Okay," he said simply.

"I'm calling Broyles and Astrid now. Be careful. Don't engage him. You're nowhere near a hundred percent yet," Olivia said sternly.

A grim smile crossed Peter's face. "I'm close enough," he answered flatly, and took off at run toward the exit stairs.

-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-

"… the most God-awful explosion," Newton said in his most hysterical voice. "It sounded like it came from the sub-basement! But there's nothing down there, is there?" he continued nattering to the security guard on duty in the lobby as people began milling around nervously.

"It's okay, Dr. Phigg, we're looking into it now. Just take it easy, all right?" the guard reassured him. "I'll just need to ask you a few questions."

"Oh, no, no, I couldn't possibly. I have to go lie down," Newton continued in his feigned hysterical manner. "Please, I just need a few moments. I'll just go to my office, and – "

"I'm sorry, sir, I'm afraid you have to stay here," the guard replied.

"But… "

"Newton!" Peter's voice echoed through the lobby, and all eyes turned to him as he walked purposefully toward Newton and the guard, his gun pointed at them.

Newton smiled maliciously. "Oh, dear," he said to the guard, turning to face Peter. "Well, if it isn't the dying prodigal. Or should I call you ' Savior of the Universes'."

"Step away from him, Conyers," Peter said in a monotone to the guard, who immediately complied – as did almost everyone else in the lobby.

"I must say, you're looking well. Your clone did a marvelous job saving you – shame you have to sacrifice him," Newton taunted him. "But you Bishops are good at that, aren't you?"

Without a word, Peter fired, hitting Newton in the left shoulder. Newton didn't fall, but grasped his shoulder as silver liquid oozed from the wound. "Well done," he chuckled. "The stories were true. The Machine did weaponize you."

Peter fired again, the bullet hitting Newton in the left arm. "No more," he said, his voice devoid of emotion, his eyes lifeless. Again, he fired, and Newton's legs buckled, driving him to his knees.

He walked over to where Newton knelt on the floor, stopping in front of him and shoving the barrel of the gun into the shapeshifter's forehead. "Why?" he asked, emotion finally returning to his voice.

"Secretary's orders," Newton said smugly. "You betrayed him, he'll destroy you." He managed to painfully shrug one shoulder. "You're not good enough for him anyway. I know you, Peter. Your past. What you really are. _Who_ you really are – a killer."

Peter's finger trembled on the trigger. "You don't know me at all," he said.

Walter, Broyles and Astrid suddenly appeared. "Peter!" Walter called out, terrified.

His father's voice distracted Peter just long enough for Newton to reach into his pocket with his good arm, and pull out a knife. Seeing the glint of the metal, Peter spun back around, and shot Newton squarely between the eyes. The shapeshifter fell soundlessly to the floor in a puddle of mercury. "Get a Hazmat team down here to clean this up," Peter commanded the guard, Conyers, who ran like hell.

Peter didn't feel his father's approach as he roughly flipped Newton over onto his back and picked up the knife he had dropped. "Peter," Walter said softly.

"Peter, what are you doing?" Astrid echoed.

Peter ignored them, pulling the shapeshifter's clothing up and counting his vertebrae with his fingers, the knife in his left hand ready to cut. "Son," Walter said, placing a gentle hand on his son's sweaty hair. "It's over. It's done. Stop now."

"But I have to," Peter mumbled, his hand shaking. "I have to know why."

"There is no why to this, son. Please. Stop. Don't let him win." Walter saw Peter's grip on the knife loosen. "Don't prove him right."

The knife clattered to the floor, and Walter watched Peter's eyes clear of their murderous look. "He killed them, Dad," Peter whispered as he turned his exhausted face to his father . "The… the Peters that were left. He killed them."

"I'm so sorry, son," Walter said, stroking his hair.

"I think Peter felt them die," Peter added. "It just never stops. It just never stops."

Walter helped Peter to his feet as Broyles and his team swept in to take charge of the situation. Astrid stood on Peter's other side. "Maybe it'll stop now, huh?" Astrid said encouragingly, rubbing Peter's arm.

"Yeah. Maybe it'll stop now," Peter repeated. "I hope so. I'm tired." Peter swayed a bit, prompting Walter to grip his arms to steady him.

"I'm sure you are," Walter said in his best scolding-father voice. "You've over-extended yourself. Let's get you back upstairs. We'll get you cleaned up, and into bed for a nice rest, all right? I think you've earned it." He waved Olivia over as she emerged from the elevator and stared in horror at Newton's dead body on the floor. "Everything's all right, dear," Walter reassured her. "Everything's quite all right now."

Olivia searched Peter's face, threading a hand through his hair. "Is it?" she asked softly.

Peter nodded. "It is," he said, a weary smile lighting his face. "It is."

-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-


	25. Chapter 25

25.

"For the last time, no way."

Olivia sighed, mustering up her last ounce of patience. "I don't recall asking your opinion on the subject, Peter. You are being wheeled out of here, and that's that. Now, stop fussing."

Astrid grinned as she held the wheelchair stationary to let a defeated Peter be seated. "Come on, you big baby. Sooner you get this over with, the sooner you get home. To my pie. Or should I say, pies."

"You made pie?" Peter said, his eyes lighting up as he settled in.

Olivia snorted. "Remember this moment the next time Peter says, 'I am nothing like my father,' okay, Astrid?"

"Duly noted," Astrid said mock-sternly. "You comfy?"

"Yeah, just peachy. Let's get outta here. Oh, but we need to - "

"No need," Peter Zero said from the doorway as he and Nina entered the room. "Mountain came to Mohammed. We just wanted to say goodbye."

Peter took the hand Peter Zero proffered and shook it warmly. "I don't know what to say to you." He stood from the chair and drew Peter Zero into a hug. "Thank you."

"Thank you," Peter Zero replied, patting Peter's back, then drawing away. "The degradation of my systems has stopped, and in most cases, is reversing itself. So, for now, I'm okay."

"So," Astrid interjected, "What's next for you? Do you have everything you need?"

"Yes, I'm fine, thanks, Astrid. I'll be okay." He looked at Nina. "We'll be okay."

"I'm so sorry about the investigation," Astrid added. "Nina, I know you had nothing to do with the development of the Peter Project. I'll do whatever I can to get this straightened out."

Nina patted Astrid's arm. "I know you will, dear, and I'm more grateful than you'll ever know for that." Nina took Peter's hand. "You do know how sorry I am for any part I may have played in this, Peter. I never meant to hurt you. Ever."

"I know you didn't. Right, Liv?" He looked to Olivia.

Sighing, Olivia nodded. "Of course. I hope things work out, Nina. I really do."

"As do I," Nina smiled. "Come along, Peter, let's get out of their hair." She looked to the young man easing himself back into the wheelchair. " Be well, Peter." She laughed. "That is _so_ confusing."

Peter joined in her laughter. "Ain't it just. You, too," he replied. He nodded knowingly and smiled at Peter Zero, who returned the gesture.

As the door closed behind them, Olivia turned to Peter. "I'll be right back," she said, and dashed outside, catching up to Peter Zero and Nina. "Hey," she said breathlessly.

"What's up?" Peter Zero asked.

Olivia placed a palm on Peter Zero's cheek. "The answer is yes."

"Sorry?" Peter Zero said, confused. Nina's eyebrows rose as well.

"That question you asked me in the waiting room. The answer is yes. You most certainly do have a soul. And it's one of the kindest ones I've ever known." Olivia kissed him on the cheek and ran back to Peter's room without another word.

"Hm," was all Peter Zero could say as he touched his fingers to his cheek.

"Hm, indeed," Nina smiled. "Let's go, Romeo."

-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-

Peter put his feet up on the coffee table as he balanced his pie plate on his lap. "Astrid has a second career coming to her, the way she can bake."

"She is a marvelous baker, isn't she?" Walter chirped happily. "Would you like another slice, Olivia?"

"No, thanks, not right now," Olivia answered, nudging Peter's feet over so hers could join his on the table. "I'm stuffed."

Peter leaned his head back against the sofa cushion and yawned. "As always, you've outdone yourself, Astrid."

Astrid smiled as she entered the room, stuffing her phone in her pocket. "Thanks very much. Oh, my dad is delighted to hear you're better, and sends his regards to everybody."

"That's lovely. Your father's a good man, Aswan. She told me he held you in prayer at his services, Peter," Walter mentioned as he picked up empty pie plates to take them to the kitchen.

"Yeah, I know. Imagine that," Peter said softly, shaking his head.

"What do you mean?" Olivia asked.

"I know things are very different than they were just a few years ago, but sometimes I just can't believe the guy I was has become a guy people would actually pray for. To live, at least." He chuckled ruefully.

"Well, get used to it," Olivia said, kissing him soundly.

"Yes, ma'am," he replied happily.

"I'm just going to put these dishes in the kitchen. For a few minutes. In the other room. With Astrid," Walter announced, taking Astrid's hand and tugging her away.

"I think we've established the location of the kitchen, Walter, thanks," Peter laughed as Walter practically bounced into the kitchen, leaving them alone. "Okay. My father is weird. But that was strange, even for him."

Olivia patted his shoulder. "He has his moments." Sitting up and facing Peter, she put on her sternest face. "We need to talk, Bishop."

Peter immediately straightened up. "Okay," he said tentatively. "Liv, is something wrong?"

"Well, depends on your viewpoint," she said cryptically. "Remember that talk we had after your first treatment?"

"Uh… you mean, when you freaked out after I mentioned getting married?" Peter asked suspiciously.

"That's the one. Does the offer still stand?"

"Of course, it always will. You know that. Olivia, what's going on? Are you saying what I think you're saying?" Peter's eyes lit up like Christmas trees.

Maintaining her stern façade, Olivia said, "Well, yes, considering you haven't left me much choice."

"Oh, my God, Liv! That's amazing! That's… wait a minute. What do you mean, I haven't left you much choice?"

"What do you think? Hey, I'm a _nice_ girl, buster. I'm not going to let some guy knock me up and then not expect him to marry me." She folded her arms indignantly, but couldn't quite fight the smile that was starting to curve her lips upward.

"I have a shotgun in the attic," Walter called in helpfully from the kitchen.

Peter blinked owlishly at her for a moment. "You… you mean you're… I mean, we… you… "

"That's what I really love about you, Peter. Your eloquence," Olivia commented. "Yes. I… we… are going to have a baby."

Peter reached trembling hands to Olivia's face. Caressing her cheeks, he said, "We're gonna have a baby. Our little tribe of Bishops."

"Dunham-Bishops, thank you very much," Olivia grinned.

"Wow," Peter whispered, tears filling his eyes. One fell down his cheek as he drew Olivia to him for a kiss. "Wow," he said again against her lips.

"Look at you," Olivia giggled. "I'm the one with the hormones, and you're the one who's crying." She wiped the tear from his cheek. "But yeah. Wow."

Peter suddenly bounded up from the couch. "I.. I mean.. wait there, just a sec." He ran to the opposite corner of the room and began rummaging through some desk drawers. "I know it's here. I put it here… or maybe…" He opened another drawer. "Aha!" he exclaimed. Seeing Walter peeking around the kitchen doorway, Peter waved the small box in his hand at him with a wink. Walter smiled tearfully and gave Peter a thumbs up.

Peter ran back to Olivia on the couch, and dropped to one knee. "Oh, Peter, you're not… come on, get up," she insisted, blushing.

"Nuh-uh," he said, opening the box before her. "Olivia Dunham, mother of our child, savior of my soul, love of my life… marry me?"

Olivia looked down at the delicate ring in the box. The small, heart-shaped green stone glittered in its setting, cradled by two diamond-encrusted hands and topped with a similarly set crown. "Oh, Peter."

"It was my mom's engagement ring. Walter gave it to me not long after I came back. Guess he figured I'd have good use of it." Olivia still stared at the ring silently. "It's a claddagh, an Irish wedding ring. The heart symbolizes love, the hands friendship, and the crown loyalty." Olivia was still silent. "Olivia, please say something?"

"I never dreamed," Olivia said quietly. "I didn't dare. It was… impossible. But, here we are. So, like Alice, I'm going to believe in impossible things. So, yes. I'll marry you."

"Whew!" Astrid exclaimed from the living room doorway, earning a laugh from Walter.

Peter gently placed the emerald ring on her finger. "Outstanding."

Walter and Astrid finally came in as Peter and Olivia kissed. "This calls for a celebration!" He held a bottle of champagne aloft. "Peter, Olivia, you are each allowed one glass in honor of the occasion. And one glass only. Which leaves the rest for us!"

Peter wrapped his arms around Olivia and smiled. "Go right ahead. I have everything I need right here. A whole new beginning."

Olivia brushed her thumbs across his cheeks. "A whole new beginning."

-0-0-0-0-0-0-

Nina Sharp put the key in the ignition and started the engine, looking over at the young man in the passenger seat. "Any ideas?"

"I've always wanted to see Graceland," Peter Zero mumbled as he looked at the map of the United States on his smart phone.

"Graceland? Really? That's not exactly what I had in mind. We need to go somewhere, Peter."

"Albert," he corrected her. "I'm Albert King now. Peter said that Albert King was a great American blues musician. They called him the Velvet Bulldozer."

"Velvet Bulldozer," Nina repeated. "Somehow, that just doesn't quite work for me… Albert." She chuckled softly.

"Well, I'm terribly sorry, Ms. _Blunt_," he laughed back.

"I must admit, Peter does have a wicked sense of humor," she said. "All right, then, Graceland first, and somewhere to live later. Just look at us, will you? A fugitive from a federal investigation and her adopted son, the fugitive from a rogue genetic experiment, out for a little afternoon drive."

Peter Zero – Albert King – merely shrugged. "Nobody's perfect," he said mildly as Nina pulled out of the parking space, headed for Graceland.

-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-

**The. End. I can't believe it! From January to August... _whew_, as Astrid just said! I can't thank all of you enough for joining me on this journey. My apologies to anyone who's left a review that I've neglected to reply to - please know that I carry your kind words with me in my heart. Thank you to everyone involved with the creation of the REAL Fringe - Joel Wyman, Jeff Pinkner, Fox, Warner Brothers TV, and, without question, the mighty John Noble, Josh Jackson, Anna Torv, Jasika Nicole, Lance Reddick, and Blair Brown. Thank you from the bottom of my heart for allowing me to play in your sandbox... and not suing me! And last, but MOST importantly, a big hug and thank you to my beta, buddy, bouncer-offer, and all-around, flat-out friend, DixieGirl256. You rock the house, lady.**

**Cheers, all.**


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